


Bacchanalia

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance, Slash, hookerfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-18
Updated: 2006-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is a rent boy working at Bacchanalia, a high-class brothel in Cascade. When he learns that Bacchanalia is being used by an organised crime ring, he agrees to help Detective Ellison investigate. The result is more than either man bargained for!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, prostitution is legal.

Detective Ellison looked down at the man sleeping in his bed and wondered what in hell he was going to do now.

Dark curly hair spread across the white pillow and partially covered Blair's face. With the sheets pushed down to his waist his healing wounds and bruises were clearly visible. Jim remembered the taste of blood in his mouth and forced himself to turn away. Blair was sleeping; he deserved to sleep.

But what the hell was Jim going to do?

He knew what he _should_ do. Play it by the book. Make the call. If he pushed hard enough, they could get Blair into the witness protection program. He could make a fresh start, away from all this. Safe.

And Jim would never see him again.

_You selfish son of a bitch. Make the goddamned call!_

Jim looked at his phone for a long time, but he didn't make the call.

*

It began as a routine op in an almost-routine case.

Jim was alone in the waiting room from hell. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and leather. The walls and ceiling were painted black with little inset spotlights providing light. The floorboards were dark-stained wood covered by a black rug in the centre of the floor. The chairs were black. Five pictures mounted on the walls provided the only relief from the darkness, but "relief" wasn't really the right word. The pictures were large, gaudy and pornographic. Men and women posed in impossible positions, peculiar costumes and horrific restraints. Jim struggled to hide his distaste but his eyes were constantly drawn back to the image opposite him: a man photographed against a lurid scarlet backdrop, dressed head-to foot in glossy black rubber, the only flesh visible an impossibly large, erect penis. The picture _had_ to be a fake. No man was that big.

The door finally opened and Jim stood, relieved to have a reason to move. The young man he was waiting for hesitated in the open doorway then smiled at Jim. He wore an outlandish outfit not unlike those pictured on the walls: thigh-high black boots with pants so tight they could have been painted onto his skin. He wore no shirt, just some kind of harness across his chest. Jim tried not to look at the clothing, meeting the man's nervous eyes instead.

Jim forced a smile. "Hi…"

"Blair," the young man prompted. "What would you like me to call you?"

The question was phrased to allow him to give a false name, but Jim answered, "My name is James."

Blair gave a practiced smile. "Welcome to Bacchanalia, James. Let's go to my room."

Jim nodded agreement, having no clue what the correct protocol might be, or even if there was one. He followed Blair through the black-painted door, then fell into step beside him as they walked down the corridor. The corridor wasn't like the waiting room. The floor was the same dark wood, but the walls were pale and the ceiling white. It was like walking through a hotel, except the doors were not numbered. There was a red light positioned above each door: most lights were on, indicating (Jim guessed) that the rooms were occupied.

Jim said nothing while they walked. With some trepidation, he concentrated on his surroundings. The doors could not protect Jim's wayward senses from the sounds - or the smells - within. He struggled to keep his expression neutral and to ignore the orgy going on all around him.

This job was going to be a lot harder than he anticipated.

They reached an unlit door and Blair opened it with a card-key. He held the door open for Jim. Jim walked in and was relieved to see a normal-looking room. A deep green curtain covered the whole of the wall opposite the door. A large bed dominated the room and above the bed was a mirror inset into the ceiling. Against another wall stood a well-stocked mini-bar and there was a second door that probably led to a bathroom.

"Nice," Jim commented.

Blair closed the door behind them and Jim heard the lock engage. He turned, a little worried. Jim didn't like being locked in.

Blair pushed a button beside the door. "The light shows the room is being used. The lock stops anyone coming in by mistake: only my key or the master key can open it. You can get out just by turning the handle." Blair moved across to the mini-bar and laid the card-key down where Jim could see it clearly. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, lifting a bottle of bourbon.

"I'm on duty," Jim answered automatically.

Blair dropped the bottle with a clatter. "Shit, man, no you're not!" He turned to Jim, his face pale. "You're a john. You paid for a night with me." He poured a glass of bourbon and held it out to Jim. "You've got to act like it, man. Take the drink. You don't have to touch it."

"Blair, they know I'm a cop." Jim didn't accept the drink.

Blair laughed nervously. "That doesn't matter. Cops come here all the time. As long as they believe you're here for sex." He held out the glass. His hand was shaking.

Jim looked at him for a moment longer, noting the sheen of sweat on Blair's forehead, the contracted pupils of his eyes: his fear. Jim took the glass from Blair's hand, brushing Blair's fingers with his own. "Which wall is Bain's room?" he asked.

"Behind the drapes." Blair moved close to Jim - too close. The smell of leather was overpowering and Jim started to take a step back. Blair touched Jim's wrist, just a light touch, his eyes pleading.

"Is someone listening?" Jim asked quietly.

"No." Blair raised a hand as if getting a speck of dust out of his eye. He glanced quickly to the left.

Jim understood at once. He leaned close to Blair as if to kiss him, stopping a mere inch away from his lips. "Camera?"

"It's security. They don't record, but there's always someone watching a new john. Just in case, you know? You've got to act like a john, man, or we're both dead."

Afraid he understood, Jim nodded. He raised the glass to his lips, pretending to sip, and placed it back on the bar. From that safe distance, he studied Blair. His blue eyes were young, but not innocent. His hair was long and gleamed with some sort of oil. The leather costume he wore looked ridiculous but it left little to the imagination: Blair had a fine body and took care of it, the muscles were firm and defined, the skin smooth. But it was the look in his eyes that drew Jim's sympathy. He was scared.

"Blair, it took guts for you to come to me.," Jim acknowledged. He touched Blair's cheek gently, for the camera's benefit. "I know that, and I promised I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger. But I came here to be a cop, not to abuse you."

Blair's eyes fell. "If Elias finds out you're here to spy on Bain, he'll cut my throat, man. If I'm lucky." He met Jim's eyes. "You don't wanna fuck me. That's okay, man. But coming here as a john was _your _idea. What did you think we'd do all night? Play backgammon?"

Jim sighed, caught between his promise and his desire to keep what was left of his virtue. "Okay, but I need to be near the drapes and I need to be able to concentrate. Understand?"

The relief was plain in Blair's smile. He took Jim's hand and led him toward the bed. "What are you into?" he asked.

"Women."

Jim saw Blair flinch and immediately regretted speaking. It was a half-truth at best.

Blair recovered quickly, though there was an edge to his voice when he answered. "Fine, then I guess you'll just have to keep your eyes closed. Here…" His leather pants creaked as he knelt down near the curtained wall.

Jim had a choice between leaning against the drapes or sitting on the bed. He did _not_ want to end up on the bed with Blair. It didn't matter that Blair fucked strangers all the time. It didn't matter that he was clearly willing. In Jim's mind, to take advantage of Blair in that way would be something close to rape. He sat down on the bed, near to the drapes. For a moment he closed his eyes, concentrating on his hearing. At first he heard nothing and cursed inwardly. This was the worst possible time for his hearing - unreliable at the best of times - to go haywire.

He was here to do a job. Blair provided the PD with the lead to Bain, a man Jim believed was directly responsible for at least twelve deaths and indirectly for hundreds more. But it wasn't Bain he was after. He wanted the man - or woman, they had no way to know - for whom Bain worked. Bain's operation was a small cog in a much larger organised crime machine. To get what they needed, Jim needed to monitor Bain's communications. He had a warrant to wiretap Bain's home and office and they'd used it, but the important deals weren't being done that way. His investigation had been stalled for months. This opportunity was too good to waste.

According to Blair, Bain was a regular at Bacchanalia and he frequently made or received calls while he was there. _That_ was what Jim needed. If he could overhear something incriminating, if he could get a new lead, they could restart the investigation. In the best-case scenario, Jim might learn enough for them to set up a sting. In the worst, he would leave with nothing and would have to try again on another night. At least, that was the plan.

Reviewing the case in his mind helped Jim to relax and as he relaxed he became aware of the sounds in the next room. He felt a familiar dull ache behind his eyes as he tried to focus on the sounds…a woman's voice, speaking softly…a man's laughter…a second man…Bain! Good.

Blair's hands on his belt broke Jim's concentration. His eyes flew open and he looked down at Blair.

Blair was kneeling between Jim's legs. One hand rested on Jim's denim-clad thigh, the other worked slowly at his belt. He smiled as Jim met his eyes. "Can you hear anything?"

"Enough."

"Some sort of high-tech microphone, right? That's cool!" The buckle was open and Blair began to pull Jim's belt out of the loops. "Relax, man. You look like you're awaiting execution or something."

"What are you planning to do?"

Blair's hand tightened on Jim's thigh. "I'm gonna suck you off." He glanced down, avoiding Jim's eyes. Unless you'd rather…"

It was too much. Jim dropped to the floor beside Blair. He simply couldn't listen to this. He groped for something to say, some excuse. "Listen, uh, if you do that, it'll be over fast."

That brought a knowing smile. "I can make it last, man."

"That's not my point. We do this…and then what? I'm supposed to be here for the night, remember?"

"Mm." Blair, still on his knees, tilted his head back, bringing his lips very close to Jim's. "You think we should drag this out?" he asked softly.

Damn, he was good. It would be so easy… "Blair, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe." Everything except…but he was going to have to, wasn't he? Jim groped for something, anything else he could ask Blair to do. "Maybe… Um…maybe you could…uh…strip for me. Take your time…" Anything to put off the inevitable.

Blair seemed pleased. "Sure, man." He began to get up.

Jim's belt fell to the floor as he straightened; he ignored it and sat back on the bed. He arranged himself comfortably, conscious now of the security camera Blair said was on them both. He made sure he was facing Blair so the camera would see him "watching". Then he let Blair do his thing and concentrated on what was happening in the next room.

It took Jim a little while to "tune in" again. When he did, Jim was not surprised to hear the sounds of sex - this was a brothel, after all - but it sounded like an orgy in there. Jim detected at least four different voices. But he didn't care how Bain got his kicks. He was listening for _conversation_…or a phone ringing. That was what Blair's information led him to expect.

The thought drew his eyes to Blair again. Blair certainly took Jim's suggestion seriously: he was stripping, but oh so slowly. He had discarded the boots while Jim's attention was elsewhere, revealing legs clad in pants so tight they looked like a second skin. As Jim watched, Blair drew the zipper down and slid a hand inside the tight fabric. Jim could see the outline of his fingers so clearly as the pants stretched to accommodate them. Jim's fingers tingled in empathy, his imagination summoning the sensation of sweat-damp skin sliding under his fingertips, of rough pubic hair catching beneath his nails. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. _I am not doing this. I am so not doing this. _

Jim shifted uncomfortably as his cock began to swell. Blair met his eyes with a grin and Jim's face heated. He knew he was caught. Beneath his embarrassment, there was something unexpected. A recognition that Blair had seen his involuntary reaction, that brought with it admiration for the young man's observation and intelligence. There was curiosity, too: why was Blair wasting his life selling himself in a hook shop?

Blair ran his hands down his thighs, down then slowly up to the waistband where he hooked his thumbs inside. He peeled the pants downward, revealing that he wore no underwear, exposing pale thighs lightly furred with dark hair. Jim raised his eyes, trying not to dwell on Blair's prominent cock, swollen but not fully erect, or on the well-defined abs. He was overcome with the desire to touch. He remained firmly seated on the bed, reminding himself to listen to the next room.

Stepping out of the pants with surprising grace, Blair was left naked. A few short steps brought him to the bed, and Jim. There was a question in his eyes.

Jim wanted to cross his legs, but kept his eyes on Blair's face.

"You want this," Blair said softly, kneeling on the end of the bed, at Jim's feet. "Why are you fighting it?"

_Because it's wrong._ But an illicit pleasure was always the most tempting, wasn't it? Blair reached down and grasped Jim's ankles, pushing his legs apart. Jim let him do it. He had stopped resisting, unable to deny he _did_ want Blair, but he couldn't bring himself to take an active part. So it was Blair who crawled up the bed to kneel between Jim's knees. It was Blair who ran teasing hands up Jim's thighs to his waist and unzipped Jim's pants. It was Blair whose hand cupped Jim's hard cock, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his underwear. Jim closed his eyes, shivers of pleasure moving through him at every touch. He leaned his head back, content now to give Blair access to his body.

Blair's fingers wove inside Jim's boxers, freeing his cock from the cloth. For a moment, Blair's touch vanished and Jim opened his eyes to look at him. He saw Blair ripping open a condom.

"You don't mind?" Blair asked him.

"No." Had Jim come here expecting to have sex, he would have brought condoms himself. It was only sensible.

The condom was black. Blair put it on Jim quickly, a well-practised movement. Without further delay he leaned forward, resting his arms on the bed alongside Jim's thighs. His hair, thick, black curls, spilled around his face like a curtain, hiding what he was doing from Jim's sight. Jim felt hot breath on his skin and sighed with anticipation.

Blair licked the base of his cock and Jim's hips jerked. He nibbled at Jim's groin through his boxers, teasing, never quite touching his cock. Jim heard a groan escape him.

Blair raised up slightly, then closed his lips over the head of Jim's cock, licking in a slow circle. He drew Jim deeper into his mouth, engulfing him in heat. Deeper and deeper until he had it all. Then he raised up, slowly, creating a firm suction. Jim felt the faintest scrape of teeth and tensed. The hint of danger added an indefinable spice to the experience.

Jim looked down again. He could see nothing of Blair's face, only the dark curls moving between his thighs. Blair's back was a pale arch below his hair, the bumps of his spine standing out starkly.

Jim couldn't help himself. He reached down, plunging his hands into Blair's thick hair. He found it silky smooth, some strands sticky with hair wax or oil. He let his hands rest there, moving with Blair's movements which were suddenly so much harder not to think about because the mouth sucking on him seemed suddenly _hot_ and oh, oh, what he was doing with his _tongue_...

Struggling for a measure of self-control Jim wrenched his gaze away, tilting his head back -

\- and that was a mistake because above him was the mirror and he saw -

\- enough to push him over the edge and his hands convulsed in Blair's hair and he saw himself cry out in orgasm and poured himself into Blair's mouth -

Oh. My. God.

In the mirror, the tableau held. Jim, his face flushed, still fully clothed. A naked man kneeling between his spread thighs. Neither of them moved.

Jim's breathing sounded very loud.

Blair raised his head, looking at Jim. He seemed shy, nervous. Jim allowed his feelings to show in his eyes and Blair's look became a shy smile. "You liked that?"

"Yeah," Jim admitted. What else could he say?

"We don't have to do anything else," Blair added. He deftly removed the condom from Jim. "I…I mean, we _can_, if you want to, but…"

Jim sat up, touching Blair's face. "I hear you." He dragged his mind back to the job. _His_ job.

Unfortunately, one incredible blowjob was the most useful thing Jim got out of the evening. He did overhear a couple of calls Bain made, but there was nothing substantial enough for him to act on. What he needed was a place, a date. Information they could use to set up a sting or an ambush.

Jim's first night in Bacchanalia, he heard enough to confirm Blair's information and prove that coming here was worthwhile, but that was it.

So he asked Blair to find out when Bain would be there next, and made plans to return.


	2. Chapter 2

Blair looked up from the bench as David walked into the room. David was late. The room was a communal changing room where he and other renters prepared for their johns and resembled nothing so much as a gymnasium changing room with walk-in closets. It was a weird combination of luxury and neglect. Blair got up from the bench when he saw David, picking up the rubber suit he had been polishing.

David mumbled an apology but Blair didn't care for his excuses. "It's okay, man, just help me with this. I've only got ten minutes."

Blair couldn't wait for Jim to see him in this. He imagined a hundred different reactions since he decided to wear it. And, in a way, that was a problem. Blair _liked_ Jim, liked him in a way he knew he shouldn't. Jim treated him like a person, not like a whore, and Blair _wanted_ to turn him on, to please him. Most of his johns let him know ahead of time what they wanted, but Jim didn't. He was, Blair thought, still telling himself he didn't come here for the sex. Jim's habit of denial gave Blair a freedom that was both a novelty and a challenge. He wanted to find out what would _do it_ for Jim.

He began to slide into the suit. Pain shot through his injured shoulder as he pulled the rubber over his legs. The suit was cool and still stiff despite his hard work, but it would loosen up as his body warmed the rubber. Black and glossy, the suit would cover him from neck to toe. Even the boots and gloves were part of the suit. But though it looked like a single piece, it wasn't. Strategically placed seams could be unzipped, certain parts of the suit could be removed, so his body was accessible.

Blair loved it.

When he was fit, he had no trouble getting into the suit without help. Today, he needed help to seal it; his injured shoulder refused to bend enough to reach the seams at the back. The arm was the main reason he chose this suit; the rubber covered all of him, so it would conceal the wound from Jim.

David saw him wince as he struggled into the arms and moved in to help. "Is this john into the rough?"

Blair smiled to himself. "Intense," he answered truthfully. "Not rough."

"...Because you're gonna be in real pain tonight if he..."

"It's fine. Really." As his body heat warmed the rubber the thick smell rising from the suit intensified. Blair breathed it in deeply.

Rubber smelled like sex to him. Not just sex, but amazing sex, wondrous sex, oh-my-god-I'm-gonna-die sex. The kind where you couldn't get enough. The kind where you waited, right on the edge of orgasm until you thought you were gonna explode from it. The kind where you damn-near passed out from the high, it was so good. The kind of sex that was so fucking good it hurt. That was what the smell of rubber meant to him.

Blair never thought of himself as a fetishist before he became a renter. Renting introduced him to a lot of kinks. Some were fun, some not. Blair had done all of them at least once. He did not like blood-play, and there was a thing involving an egg whisk that was just plain weird, but he managed to enjoy most of the things johns requested. But the job wasn't just about serving other people's desires. It was an opportunity to learn about his own, and Blair discovered one or two things he really loved.

Rubber was top of his list.

David sealed the suit at the back. "Do you want the cuffs or the mask?"

Blair thought about that, remembering his last meeting with Jim. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine Jim taking advantage of the cuffs to tie him down and fuck him. Jim running his hands over all this glossy rubber. Jim fucking his mouth as Blair knelt bound and blindfolded... Blair shivered. As wonderful as that might be, he knew that wasn't Jim's style.

The mask? No, the mask would hide his hair and Jim liked his hair. Blair shook out his long hair. "No," he answered regretfully. "Just the suit." Perhaps one day...

"Then you're ready." David slapped Blair's ass playfully.

"Thanks, man." Blair turned around grinning.

"Have fun," David told him with a pointed look at Blair's groin.

Blair's grin faltered and he turned away quickly. He took a last look at himself in the mirror and decided he was ready. Jim would be waiting.

*

He enjoyed the way Jim's eyes widened when he saw Blair. Blair had made an impression and it gave him a thrill. Immediately, he recognised the danger in his feelings. True, Jim wasn't just another john, but Blair was still only a means to an end for him. Paid for.

He led Jim silently along the corridor to his room. They never spoke on this journey. Blair followed the usual routine automatically: open the door for the john, close it, make sure it's locked, turn on the occupied light.

Jim's hand was on Blair's arm as he turned around. "You're hurt," he said. It wasn't a question.

Blair's stomach did a flip-flop. "No, I..."

"Don't lie to me." Jim grasped his upper arms, gently but firmly forcing Blair to face him. He ran one hand lightly over Blair's rubber-clad shoulder. "I can see the way you move. Your shoulder is stiff, like you're in pain. I suppose this diving suit is supposed to stop me noticing?"

Caught, Blair nodded.

"You need to get out of this life, kiddo."

Blair backed away from Jim. He knew how Jim felt, knew Jim had no respect for what he did, but it still hurt to hear it. "It's a bit late for that, man," he said, trying to smooth out the frown he knew he wore. Blair had ambitions, once. He was going to be a scientist. He was going to change the world. But childish dreams smashed on the rock of reality, years before. This was his life now.

Very few people chose to rent if they had an alternative. A small number did, attracted by what they thought was easy money or by kinky sex; those didn't last long. Most, like Blair, started renting out of desperation. But that didn't make it something to be ashamed of. It was a job, nothing more.

He forced a smile to his face. "Do you like it?" he asked, keeping his tone light. Flirting by numbers. Head down, look up through the lashes.

"Stop it!" Jim commanded.

Blair obeyed. "You don't like the suit."

"You look like a refugee from a porn film."

It made Blair laugh. "Close enough." He saw Jim's answering smile. "I'm sorry, man. I really thought you'd enjoy it." He ran a gloved hand down his side, half turning to give Jim his profile. "It opens up here..."

"Blair, please." Jim came forward and pulled Blair into his arms. "You're better than this." He kissed Blair's forehead. "Why do you do it? Tell me."

_Better than this..._ Damn it, Blair shouldn't have to take this crap from Jim. "Do what? Rent?" Blair could feel Jim's body heat through the rubber. He inched closer.

"Yeah."

When any other john asked him that, Blair always answered simply, "I love it." He looked up, meeting Jim's eyes and knew he owed him the truth. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah." Jim led them to the bed, where they both sat down. Jim's arm stayed loosely across Blair's shoulders.

"I needed money, a lot of money. I tried other things but when you're sixteen years old it's not easy to get a decent paycheck." He shrugged. "This isn't always an easy job, Jim, but the money is very good."

"You were sixteen? Why did you need money so badly?" A frown creased Jim's forehead, a dark look that told Blair he expected an answer he wouldn't like.

Fucking typical. Blair set his jaw defiantly. "I don't do drugs, man."

Jim nodded slowly. "No, I'd have noticed." He said nothing more, waiting for Blair.

Blair searched Jim's eyes for a sign he was lying, but found nothing. Finally, he gave him the truth. "My mom. There was an accident. We had no insurance, and I had to pay the hospital somehow."

Jim's frown smoothed out, but the look was replaced by something worse: pity. "Is she still sick?" he asked gently.

"She's...not going to get better." Blair moved away. For the first time he felt humiliated by Jim. He saw himself through the cop's eyes: just another worthless whore. But he wasn't worthless! He wasn't.

Jim followed him. "I...uh..." He caught Blair's uninjured arm, making him stop. "Let's get you out of this thing, okay?" He reached for the buckle at Blair's neck.

If that was meant as an apology, it wasn't good enough. Blair raised a hand to stop him. "No..."

"I'm going to see what's wrong with your arm, Blair," Jim insisted.

Damn. Blair nodded reluctantly. He opened the buckle himself then turned his back on Jim, lifting his hair aside. "There's a catch at the top of each seam."

Jim came close, his fingers finding the fastenings easily. He opened the rubber suit, one seam at a time. The rubber peeled away from Blair's body. Jim removed the neck and vest, exposing Blair's upper chest and the tops of his arms, but leaving his legs and abdomen covered, as well as the gloves covering his arms to above the elbow. It was more than enough to reveal the injury.

Jim touched the wound lightly. "You didn't get that from rough sex," he said, his voice harsh.

This was exactly what Blair feared. "It's not what you think, Jim, okay?" He tried to cover the wound with his hand.

Jim grabbed Blair's arms and turned him around firmly, then examined the front of the wound. "This looks like a bullet wound."

"Well, it's _not_!" Blair looked down and saw the wound was bleeding again. It probably needed stitches but going to a hospital would have meant answering endless questions. Blair just wasn't willing to go through that. He'd used ice and pressure to slow the bleeding then just added a sterile dressing, but he'd had to remove the dressing to put on the rubber suit.

"No? Then explain to me how you have a hole right through your shoulder. You were lucky it didn't hit bone."

"Doesn't matter," Blair mumbled.

"Tell me."

Blair sighed. "We've got a room downstairs; we call it the dungeon. I don't work down there, but I was helping shift some of the...equipment and part of the set collapsed. On me."

"A set?" Jim sounded sceptical. "As in theatre?"

"It was a metal framework with a lot of loose pieces. A spike went through my shoulder. It's okay. No permanent harm done."

"So why are you here, working? Why aren't you in a hospital?"

"Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how hospitals treat renters? Everyone behaving like I've got some contagious disease, doctors looking at you like you deserve to be hurt. No thanks, man."

Jim looked at the wound again. "Blair, you're still bleeding. When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. I tore the skin earlier when I took the dressing off. Look, it's _okay_, man. I've had my shots."

"Shots," Jim repeated flatly.

Exasperated, Blair wrenched away from Jim's grasp. "Just drop it, man! You asked, I answered. We're done."

Jim came after him. He ran his hands down Blair's rubber-clad arms, Jim's lips touched the curve of Blair's neck. "When..." Jim lifted Blair's curls away from his skin, "...did I start thinking of you as a friend?"

A friend. It was not what Blair wanted to hear. He and Jim had been having sex for weeks. You don't call someone you're fucking a "friend". Even whore would be better, as that was at least honest.

Blair arranged his face into the mask he wore for all his johns. "Friendship is good, man. But I can take care of myself."

"I guess you can." Jim got the message at last and backed off, giving Blair some space. "Do you want to get out of that suit?"

"Do you want me to?"

"It doesn't look comfortable."

"Looks can be deceiving..." Blair's flirtatious smile was automatic. He looked at Jim. The cop had returned to sit on the bed, but he was perched on the edge, his posture suggesting discomfort. Blair got hold of himself and started to pay attention to Jim as he would to any john. He looked tense, and Blair realised he had been since he arrived. Was something else going on? Jim never talked much about his life or his work. Blair berated himself for not noticing earlier; it was unprofessional to make this all about him.

"Does the suit make _you_ uncomfortable?" he asked Jim carefully.

Jim shrugged. "You've got to admit it's extreme. I might get used to the look, Blair but the smell is... It's just..." he broke off suddenly and glanced at the wall. Blair recognised the gesture, but how Jim could hear anything in the next room was beyond him. It was spooky, almost like the story he read years ago: Burton's monograph on tribal guardians.

Blair smiled inwardly at the conceit. "Okay, I'll get rid of the suit." Since Jim objected to the smell, Blair gathered up the discarded pieces of the suit and ducked into the adjoining bathroom to strip. He was disappointed but Jim was in charge here. He returned to Jim, nude.

Jim was standing by the heavy curtain, listening to the other room. He had stripped down to his waist, but his pants and shoes were still firmly in place. Jim gestured to the bed as Blair entered the room. Obediently, Blair climbed onto the bed. Jim joined him. Jim didn't speak at all but directed Blair to lie on his side, his wounded arm uppermost. Jim lay down behind Blair, spooning their bodies together. "Stay quiet," he whispered in Blair's ear.

_Not a problem_. With the warmth of Jim's body surrounding him, Blair was content to lie still. It was all illusion, this intimacy, he knew that, but it was a pleasant illusion. And truthfully, the shoulder did hurt like hell. He wasn't really up for sex, at least not the strenuous kind. He relaxed in Jim's arms. After a while, he closed his eyes.

Blair must have fallen asleep, because he woke to find Jim stroking his hair. The lights in the room were low. Blair rolled onto his back, opening his eyes. Jim was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

"Jim?" Blair began to sit up.

"It's okay. I got what I needed."

For a moment Blair was confused, then it clicked into place. "From Bain?"

"Yeah."

The news banished the grogginess from Blair's brain. "That's great, man." He lifted his legs to swing around and sit beside Jim, but the action put pressure on his arm and he winced in pain. "Does this mean you can arrest him?"

"No, not yet. I heard enough for probable cause but we won't get a conviction on my word alone. But with what I heard tonight, we can get the evidence very soon." He cupped Blair's cheek with one hand. "I couldn't have done it without you."

It sounded like goodbye. "It's cool, man." Blair smiled sadly. "So...you're leaving?"

"Soon." Jim leaned closer, meeting Blair's eyes.

Blair licked his suddenly dry lips. "Jim?" Blue eyes filled his vision and Blair looked down, disconcerted. But that didn't help because he found himself staring at Jim's lips.

This was crazy. He'd had Jim's cock in his mouth. He'd had sex with him. Why was the thought of a kiss - a real, mouth-on-mouth kiss - suddenly a big deal?

The first touch of lips was soft, tentative, Jim's lips just touching Blair's bottom lip. The touch made Blair draw a breath, heat curling through his belly. Jim drew back an inch, no more. Blair could still feel Jim's breath, hot against his skin. He was afraid to speak, afraid even to move.

Jim's hand stroked up his bare back, coming to rest at the back of Blair's neck. The smallest pressure from that hand made Blair move forward and their lips met again. Blair parted his lips and Jim responded, his hand tightening in Blair's hair. Blair raised a hand to touch Jim and realised he was still wearing rubber gloves. It made him hesitate for an instant and Jim felt his hesitation. He began to pull away.

"Don't stop," Blair begged. He pulled Jim to him and this time there was no hesitation from either of them. Blair put all the passion he was capable of into the kiss, opening his mouth and probing Jim's mouth with his tongue; not aggressive, just an invitation. Their tongues met and Blair was lost.

It was so...so real.

Had Jim pushed him back onto the bed and fucked him, Blair would have known exactly what to do. But Jim showed no sign of wanting to go beyond kissing him. Jim's hand was in his hair, Jim was holding him close, tasting every part of his mouth. It confused the hell out of Blair.

When Jim finally came up for air, Blair found himself blushing. He felt afraid, suddenly, though of what he couldn't have said.

Jim's blue eyes were a mystery. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Uh...listen...Blair... When we go after Bain...it's possible, despite all the precautions we've taken, that he could trace this back to you. Or at least to Bacchanalia."

Blair nodded, glad for the change of subject. "I know. I know the risks when I came to you."

"What I'm saying is, if you get any hint you might be in danger, you _have_ to get out. These people don't play games. Do you have a good memory?"

The question seemed out of place but Blair answered it. "Yes, very good."

Jim reached into a pocket. "You know my number at the PD. This is my cell and my home number. Once you've got them memorised, drop the paper into the toilet. Don't risk being caught with it, understand?"

"I get it."

"If you need _anything_, call me."

"Okay."

"To keep up this masquerade, I'm going to book a night with you next week as usual. I think we'll move before then, but either way, I won't show up."

Blair nodded. "I...I won't see you again, then?"

Jim's look was unreadable. "I don't know. I guess not, if everything goes to plan." He hesitated for a moment, as if he had more to say. But he added only, "I have to go now."


	3. Chapter 3

The vegetables were chopped, the meat was marinating and the pasta was ready to go. Jim added a pinch of salt to the water and turned up the heat to bring it to the boil. He didn't always bother with cooking; he was just as happy with take-out or whatever he could get delivered, but he did enjoy cooking occasionally. Tonight it was a welcome break: he'd been hard at work planning the raid on Bain's operation all day. He needed a good meal, a few beers and something fun on the television.

When the phone rang, he answered distractedly, his mind on the meal. "Ellison. Make it fast."

"Jim?" The voice sounded panicked. Jim registered the sound of a car engine. "Jim, I'm in trouble, man!"

"Blair?" Hard on the heels of recognition came panic. The timing was too close to be coincidence. "Where are you?" he demanded.

"In my car. They're right behind me, man."

"Where are you?" Jim repeated, strapping on his holster as he spoke.

"I - I don't know. Uh...just turning into Prospect."

"That's my street!" Jim dashed across the apartment to the balcony, leaning out. Prospect was a long road but from his balcony Jim could see a long way. It took a second but he saw the car turning into the far end of the street. He blinked, and recognised Blair at the wheel of the first car. "Okay, I see you. I'm at 852 Prospect. Keep looking for me - I'll meet you on the street outside."

Jim was out of the door in a hurry. He grabbed his shield, cellphone and a flashlight on his way out. He raced down to ground level in time to see Blair's car swerving wildly as it approached. Jim waved his flashlight to get Blair's attention. Blair saw him, hit the accelerator and then the brake. Tyres screeched in the dark street and Blair's car spun out of control.

Jim had to make a decision fast. He couldn't do anything for Blair, not immediately. So he concentrated on the second car, Blair's pursuers. He shot out the front tyre and the car crashed into a parked vehicle. The crash must have wakened the entire street. The collateral damage was not exactly what Jim had in mind, but the car was stopped. That was enough. Jim pulled out his cellphone to call for backup and an ambulance.

Blair's car crashed into a wall and the front of it was crushed like a concertina. Jim found Blair slumped over the steering wheel. He was dazed and there was blood on his face, but he was conscious. Jim pulled the door open and began to help Blair out of the wreck. He wanted Blair out of sight before the men who were after him realised what was going on. Blair seemed to be in a lot of pain, but Jim could hear sirens approaching and there wasn't much time. He half-carried, half-dragged Blair across to his building.

He got Blair to sit at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Blair nodded, though he was pale and his eyes were pinpoints of shock and fear.

"Good. I've got to take care of things outside. Take this..." Jim pressed his gun into Blair's hand. "Use it if you have to, but be careful, okay. I don't want you shooting me by mistake. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

*

Blair stared at the gun in his hand. It was just too surreal. He was an artiste, a renter. He didn't know what to do with a gun. He settled the gun in his lap and shifted uncomfortably on the stair where he sat. It was no use. He was just too bruised to be comfortable and totalling his car hadn't helped. He was lucky he'd been belted in; the worse injury he had from the crash was a whiplash. Blair winced as the concrete stair dug into his back. He was wearing a leather jacket. He couldn't take it off but he shifted it around at the back to provide a little padding. Blair looked down at his bare feet and waited for Jim.

Outside, he could hear police sirens and an ambulance. He wondered if anyone had been hurt. There were voices, but Blair couldn't hear the words. He waited. Four hours earlier, he had been living his normal life...

*

 

_Blair kissed Marcus a last time and opened the door to let him into the waiting room. Marcus (probably not his real name) turned back to him with a smile. "See you next month."_

_Blair smiled his professional smile, warm and inviting with a hint of tease. "I look forward to it." It wasn't really a lie. Marcus was a good client: he liked some weird stuff but nothing unpleasant and he tipped like a prince! Blair closed the door and turned toward the changing room._

_A hand covered Blair's mouth. Other hands grabbed at his body. Blair struggled but it was no use. The attack took him completely by surprise; he hadn't even noticed them lurking in wait for him. Someone covered his head with a hood or cloth. As soon as his mouth was freed Blair shouted for help. No help came. _

_Rough hands dragged him forward, he couldn't tell where. He was shoved up against a wall and restraints were clasped about his wrists. Frightened now, Blair stopped struggling. _

_The hood covering his head was ripped away. Blair found himself staring into Elias' face. _

_The owner of the brothel was an elegant African-American man. Elias was tall and thin, not muscular and his narrow face was made more so by the goatee beard. His hair was braided into thin cornrows. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Blair and what Blair read in his employer's expression was pure fury. He knew he was in trouble before Elias ever spoke. _

_"Why did you do it, boy?"_

_Blair had only a second to consider possible answers. Should he deny everything? Pretend ignorance? Apologise? Stammering, he answered, "I...I don't know what you mean..."_

_Elias gave a small nod. A fist slammed into Blair's stomach. The restraints prevented him from doubling over but the breath whooshed out of him and he gasped, struggling to draw in air. The man who had hit him - one of the security guards - began to strip off Blair's clothing. _

_Blair allowed himself to be stripped; that much at least was part of the job._

_Elias said, "Let's try again. Why did you betray us to the cops?"_

_"I don't know what - "_

_PAIN._

*

"Blair." It was Jim's voice, soft and comforting. His hands closed carefully over the gun Blair was holding.

Blair startled out of his reverie. He let Jim take the gun.

Jim lifted Blair's curls away from his face. "You're hurt. You might have a concussion. C'mon, I'll take you to the hospital."

"No!" Blair pulled away from him in panic. "No way, that's the first place they'll look for me!"

"Don't be silly. I can get you police protection..."

"Please, no hospital, man. I'll be all right." Blair held Jim's gaze, begging with his eyes.

Jim nodded reluctantly. "Okay. Let's get you upstairs and I'll take a look at you myself." He helped Blair to stand. Jim's hand on his back hurt like hell and Jim noticed. "Are you sure you don't need a hospital, Blair?"

"I'm sure. Please." But Blair wasn't sure at all. By the time they reached Jim's apartment he was almost crying with the pain. Maybe he did need a doctor. Blair thought back over everything that had happened to him that day. No...when he escaped from Bacchanalia he'd been okay, relatively speaking. So the pain he was feeling now was either delayed shock or injuries from the car crash. He was walking and he wasn't bleeding...so his injuries couldn't be that bad.

Jim let him into the apartment. Blair hung back, looking around. The apartment was quite big, lots of open space, very neat and tidy. Blair thought about his own place: books piled in corners because he'd never found time to put up shelves and kitchen cupboards filled with coffee and herbal remedies. Nothing like this. He felt out of place here.

"What happened to your shoes?" Jim asked.

Blair stared at him, not understanding.

Jim held him by both shoulders, looking into his eyes. "You're in shock, Blair. Come and sit down."

"I'm okay," Blair insisted, but he allowed Jim to lead him to an armchair.

Jim told him to wait, so Blair waited while Jim walked around the apartment. When Jim returned he put a mug of hot, sweet tea into Blair's hands. "Here, drink this. It'll help." He knelt beside the chair and Blair registered that tea wasn't the only thing Jim was carrying. "I'm no doctor, but I was a medic back in my army days," Jim explained. "Let me take a look at you." He had a bowl of water cloudy with antiseptic and a cloth. He lifted Blair's hair aside, cleaning his face and forehead. The cloth became red with blood.

Blair sipped the tea. It was too sweet, but he remembered something about sweet tea for shock...something to do with blood sugar levels.

"It's just a small cut," Jim said, half to himself. "Do you feel dizzy at all?"

"Um...no."

"Any odd tastes or smells?"

"Too much sugar in the tea," Blair smiled weakly.

Jim returned the smile. "Okay, then I think you can avoid the hospital for now." He soaked the cloth again and lifted Blair's foot. "Do you always go driving without shoes?" He cleaned the cut on Blair's instep.

Blair winced at the sting of antiseptic. "I didn't have a lot of time to change. Um...there must have been broken glass in the road or something."

"Yeah, that happens when cars get smashed." Jim reached for a dressing and began to cover the cut.

"I guess," Blair agreed.

Jim finished taping the dressing in place and reached up to remove Blair's leather jacket.

For the first time Blair resisted. He didn't want Jim to see... "I'm okay," he said again.

"Blair, you just drove your car into a wall," Jim said patiently. "You're in pain. Either let me see how badly you're hurt or we're going to the hospital right now." Jim's hands were gentle as he parted the jacket.

Blair, moving stiffly, helped him to remove it. But removing the jacket revealed the shirt underneath. Blair knew he must have bled onto the shirt but he hadn't thought it would be such a mess. His blood had soaked into the shirt, sticking it to his skin.

Jim gasped. "What did they do to you?"

Blair took a deep breath and even that hurt. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Jim, did you know?"

Jim frowned. "Know what?"

Blair looked at him, not knowing whether to trust him or not. But Jim was helping him... "Bain isn't just a john at Bacchanalia. He's a partner." If the cops knew, and Jim used Blair anyway...but the look on Jim's face made it clear it was news to him.

"What? No!" Jim stared. "Blair, we checked into Bain's business dealings. I don't remember anything linking him to Bacchanalia. We didn't even know he was a customer there until you came to us. I swear I wouldn't have risked you if I'd thought... Are you sure of this?"

"It's what he said. Elias."

Jim glanced down, then back up at Blair. "How much do they know?"

"I think everything."

"Getting this shirt off you is going to hurt. Are you ready?"

Blair gulped. "I guess so."

Jim soaked the cloth in the antiseptic liquid and wrung it out a little. He undid the shirt buttons and used the cloth to soak the shirt gently away from Blair's skin. His face was set in concentration as he worked. It hurt. Yes, what Jim was doing hurt but the physical pain was a small thing compared to what Blair saw in Jim's face. He'd never thought Jim would look at him with such...detachment.

For nearly eight years Blair had made a living from his body. He was used to all sorts of reactions, from contempt to admiration or just plain lust. But never indifference. Blair thought Jim was special, that he cared, that he came to Blair for more than just a weekly blowjob. Blair felt flattered by Jim's refusal to see him as a whore; he believed that meant Jim saw him as a person. As real. Now he realised he was wrong.

Blair winced as Jim peeled the cloth away from his shoulder. It revealed the bruises as well as the wound.

"Sorry," Jim said. He cleaned the shoulder wound with the cloth. "Blair, this was healing..."

"I know. Elias wanted me hurt. They started by re-opening it."

"Shit." Jim finished what he was doing and offered Blair a bathrobe to replace the shirt. He stood then and took a seat on the arm of the couch. "Tell me what happened, Blair. _Everything_ that happened."

Blair pulled the bathrobe around himself gratefully. "There's not much to tell. Security grabbed me after my first john. I was tied up. Elias told me he knew I'd betrayed them. He wanted to know why, and what I'd told to whom."

"Which means he knew very little. What did you say to him?"

"I tried denying it, but that didn't work. That's when they started hurting me."

"Blair, whatever you told them, I'm not going to think less of you. You had to tell them."

_How could you think less of me than you do already?_ Blair hugged the bathrobe close. "Elias knew it was you. I - I told him I'd given you Bain's name. That's all."

*

_Blair curled his body into a foetal position, trying to cover his head with his arms. Another kick connected with his ribs and he cried out, curling up tighter around the pain. _

_"Enough!" Elias' voice said. _

_The men standing over Blair backed off, still surrounding him in a circle._

_"Get up," Elias ordered._

_Blair couldn't move. Every part of his body hurt. He knew his body was bruised, which meant he was unfit for work. Was Elias going to kill him? He struggled to obey Elias' order but the best he could do was to rise to all fours. Someone grasped his hair, dragging his head up. Elias was reclined in a leather chair, enjoying the show. He was peeling an apple as he watched. Bastard. _

_"Get him out of my sight."_

_The security guard yanked Blair up by his hair. But once Blair was standing he released his grip. Blair fell forward, sprawling across Elias' desk. The guards dragged him back up by his arms, but Blair managed to palm the small blade Elias had used on his apple. He forced his body to go limp as they dragged him out._

*

"They took me into the dungeon. That's where we do the rougher stuff, slave scenarios..."

"I get it."

"I was tied to a bondage frame. I think it was just meant to scare me, but I'm not sure. Then they left me there. It took me ages to get my hand free..." He held his hand out to Jim, pulling back the sleeve of the bathrobe to show his wrist, raw and torn. "All I could think was to get the hell out of there. I couldn't run naked, so I found my clothes but I was in so much of a hurry I didn't think about shoes, man. Just shirt, pants and keys. You know the rest."

"You've got some bad bruises there. Maybe broken ribs. Does it hurt to breathe?"

"Not really," Blair lied.

Jim looked at him, apparently not convinced. "I can't help you if you won't be honest with me." Quietly, he asked, "Blair, were you raped?"

Blair managed a smile, relieved he could tell the truth about this at least . "No, man."

Jim looked relieved. "Good. I think you'll live. Do you want to take a shower? Or eat?"

"Both sound good," Blair answered eagerly, glad the interrogation was over. "But...what's going to happen to me, Jim? I mean..."

"We'll talk about that when you're feeling better. For now, just trust that you're safe here."

Blair nodded unhappily. _Safe now. But for how long?_


	4. Chapter 4

While Blair showered, Jim found some clothing for him. They were nowhere near the same size but Jim found a t-shirt that was too small for him, boxer shorts and sweatpants with drawstrings. The pants would be too long, but that would be okay for now. Shoes were a problem as Jim didn't know Blair's size, but he owned a pair of sandals with Velcro fastenings that would fit most average sizes. He left the clothing in the bathroom for Blair.

In the kitchen Jim looked at his half-prepared supper and decided it would stretch to feed two. While he cooked, he thought over the situation.

The investigation into Bain was one operation away from bringing down what they thought was Bain's entire network, including his boss. They had a raid scheduled for the next day. The information Jim obtained with Blair's help was an invaluable part of their planning: through Bacchanalia Jim acquired names, dates places: enough for the PD to get the necessary warrants. But if Blair was right about Bain being a partner in Bacchanalia, they needed to raid the brothel, too.

Elias' attack on Blair suggested they were running scared, which was good. Jim had no doubt Blair was telling the truth; his injuries were consistent with his story: the week-old injury he'd claimed was an accident had been re-opened with a knife, and the bruising to his ribs and arms suggested he'd taken a beating. He hadn't let Jim see how badly he was injured below the waist; Jim could only hope Blair had told the truth when he said he wasn't sexually abused.

Jim went to the bathroom door and knocked. "Blair, supper's almost ready."

"I'll be right there."

Jim served the pasta onto two plates and was ready when Blair appeared. "Grab a plate," he offered with a smile. But he made no move to pick up his own plate; his attention caught by the other man. Normal clothing looked good on Blair. It struck Jim that this was the first time he'd seen Blair in normal street clothes. No, that couldn't be right. What was Blair wearing the day he came into the PD? Jim thought back and smiled inwardly. Even then Blair had been dressed to kill: leather, tight pants, black vest, and black flight jacket. Seeing him wearing Jim's clothing made Jim feel...oh, hell! He looked _good_. And that smile as he settled on Jim's couch and tucked into the food. Not the well-practised smile of his work, but a genuine, happy smile. How could he be happy after everything he'd been through?

Blair looked up as Jim approached. "Jim, do you have enough to arrest Bain?"

Jim nodded. "We do but we're after the next man up in the chain. You know, if you file a report about what happened to you we can get Elias as well."

Blair looked scared. "I don't know, man..."

"You don't have to decide right away. You can stay here tonight regardless and tomorrow we'll talk about what to do."

"Uh...stay here?"

Jim shook his head. "On the couch. You're welcome to my spare room but the bed in there is full of broken springs. You'll be more comfortable on the couch."

Blair looked down at his plate. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." He looked glum and Jim wondered if he'd been expecting something else. Jim set his empty plate aside and moved up the couch to sit closer to Blair. Jim wanted to touch him so badly... He thought wryly that the impulse wasn't so surprising. The past six weeks with Blair were the most sex he'd had in years. And the best...

But it was just part of a cover. To think about Blair in that way _now_ was wrong.

Blair met Jim's eyes, chewing his lip. "I'm scared, man. Not for me, I know I'm safe here. But Elias knows about my mom. What if he..."

Jim hadn't thought of that. "You mentioned your mother to me before. I know she's ill."

"She's in a nursing home, just outside Cascade. She's...comatose."

"Since you were sixteen?" Jim asked gently.

Blair nodded.

"What's her name?"

"Naomi. Naomi Sandburg."

Jim reached for the telephone. "This is Detective Ellison. Is Captain Banks still there?...Simon, it's Jim. Bain moved against my informant...Yes, he's okay, but I need to arrange protection for his family." He listened, gesturing to Blair to stay quiet. "Thanks." He covered the phone and said to Blair, "Where is she?"

"The Maria Churchill Sanatorium. It's on Berkley road."

Jim relayed the information to Simon. "I want a uniform in the building, Simon, not just a patrol. Yes, I do think it's needed. Thanks, Simon." He hung up the phone and turned to Blair. "She'll be protected for a couple of days."

"Only two days?"

"That's how long it'll take us to make the arrests. If there's still danger after that I'll make sure she's okay. Don't worry."

"Thanks. Oh, god, thank you. I've been so worried." Blair shifted closer to Jim, leaning against his shoulder. Jim raised his arm, hugging Blair close. The gesture felt so natural Jim didn't realise he had done it until Blair's hand moved to his thigh.

Gently, Jim moved the hand away. "Blair you don't need to pay for my help. _I_ owe _you_."

"Pay?" Blair frowned. Then he smiled, still snuggled against Jim's side. "Because I do it for a living you think I never have sex just for fun? Jim, people in the entertainment industry do the job because they enjoy it. Same here." He moved his hand back to Jim's thigh. "Most of the time I enjoy my work, but it's more fun when I'm not being paid for it."

Jim shifted uncomfortably. He was growing hard and hoped Blair hadn't noticed. "Blair, when we had sex, it was because I was doing my job." The words were cruel, but necessary, he thought.

Unfortunately, Blair wasn't fazed. "Yeah, so was I," he agreed. He ran his hand up Jim's thigh. "I know you want me, Jim. I want you, too. Don't make it complicated."

For a moment an ugly suspicion crossed Jim's mind. What if Blair _was_ lying to him? What if this was some kind of manipulation or distraction? But Blair's bruises were real and what could Elias or Bain hope to gain from this?

"Blair, you're injured," he protested.

Blair laughed, his mouth inches from Jim's. "That is _so_ not a problem, man." And then, before Jim could come up with a better objection, he kissed him.

It was as if everything else fell away. Jim was drowning in sensation. The heat of Blair's lips pressed against his. Jim sought Blair's tongue with his own, lifting his hands to hold Blair close. Blair tasted so good. He concentrated on that, on the taste of Blair's mouth, the heat of his lips. It was easier than thinking about how stupid this was. Just the taste and the heat. Just Blair...

*

"Jim. Jim. Wake up, man, come on. Jim!"

Jim shook his head. "Uh...sorry. I guess I got distracted for a moment."

"A moment?" Blair sat back, frowning. It was much longer than a moment. He wasn't sure how long, but he was sure it took at least a minute to get Jim's attention. A minute is a long time. "Jim, if this is none of my business, tell me, but I want to ask you some things. Okay?"

Jim looked uncertain, but nodded. "Okay."

"Have you ever had an EEG? Or been tested for epilepsy?"

"What? No!" Jim shook his head in denial, but then he stopped, his eyes becoming distant for a moment. "Wait. When I was in the army, not long before I left I had a very thorough medical. It included an EEG. They didn't find anything wrong, though."

Blair nodded. It was the answer he expected. "I had to check. Jim, when you came to Bacchanalia, you let me think you were using some sort of high tech equipment but you weren't were you?"

Jim hesitated. He sighed. "No, just me." He was silent for a moment, looking into Blair's eyes. "I have," he admitted eventually, "very good hearing."

"If you could hear clearly through that wall, you have hearing a bat would envy. You have amazing eyesight, too. When I was driving here you said you could see me."

Slowly, Jim nodded.

Blair struggled to contain his excitement. It couldn't be... Jim couldn't be... "It's a problem for you sometimes, isn't it? Your senses?"

Jim's eyes flew open. "How could you know...?"

"Like just now, when we were kissing," Blair concluded. This time it wasn't a question. Blair was sure. He thought how much this discovery would have meant to him if his life were the way he'd planned it, and his heart broke a little.

Jim's look was intent. "Blair, how could you know _anything_ about my senses?" He leaned toward Blair a little, determined to get a response.

Blair settled onto the couch, the gesture turning him slightly away from Jim. "You think I sell my body because I'm too stupid or uneducated to do anything else."

Jim reached out to touch Blair's shoulder. "No. No, I don't. But - "

"Before mom's accident, I was an undergraduate at Rainier. At fifteen. I'm not an idiot, Jim."

"I didn't think you were."

"I wanted to do a doctorate in anthropology. You see, I found this monograph..."

Jim interrupted him impatiently. "I get it. You're smart. I want you to answer my question, Blair."

"No, you _don't_ get it!" Blair snapped, frustrated. "And I _am_ answering the question! Burton's monograph described a class of tribal warriors that he called sentinels. They were the tribe's watchmen: they tracked game, watched for changes in the weather. They were the key to the tribe's survival. A sentinel was chosen because of a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness far beyond normal humans. Jim, _you_ might have that same advantage!"

Jim was frowning. "Are you serious?"

"Your hearing, your eyesight," Blair nodded. "Are your other senses as hyperactive?"

He seemed to consider that. "Maybe. I think so."

"That's it, man! You're a sentinel. It makes sense."

Jim shook his head and stretched, arms above his head. "I've got to admit it's nice to be able to put a name to it, but how does this explain my blackouts? And why did you ask about epilepsy?"

"Oh. Because what happened just now could be mistaken for a _petit mal_ seizure. Jim, I don't know as much about this as I'd like, but I read that the sentinel gift came with a kind of built-in downside. If you concentrate too much on any one of your senses, you can block out everything else. And I mean _everything_, to the point where it's a danger to you. Or could be. I mean, if that happened while you were driving, or following a bad guy..."

Jim nodded. "And you think that's what happened just now?"

"You tell me, Jim." Blair knelt up on the couch, facing Jim. "Look, we both know you can have a normal sex life without blacking out. I know I'm good, man, but I doubt my kisses are _that_ good." He grinned. "So what were you thinking when you were kissing me?"

Jim considered that. He didn't want to admit to Blair that he'd been freaking out over kissing a man, _wanting_ a man. But Blair was on the right track. "Taste," he answered eventually. "I was noticing the way you tasted."

Blair's smile was radiant. "Exactly."

*

Jim threw the towel to Blair. "I'll wash, you dry."

"You know, Jim, there's this really neat invention called a dishwasher." Blair sassed back with a smirk. "Have you heard of it?"

"Heard of one? I've _been_ one," Jim answered. He handed a clean, wet pan to Blair.

Blair took it, rubbed it absently with the towel. "And I've probably _had_ one, but that's not what I meant. Are you always this..."

"Clean?"

"Uh...obsessive compulsively tidy is what I was going to say, but yeah. Clean."

"Then, yeah, I am." Jim passed over a plate.

Blair dried the plate. "Are we gonna pick up where we left off. I mean...I'd like to..."

Jim gave him an exasperated look. _Man's got a one-track mind._ "Blair, you asked me a lot of personal questions back there. Now I'm going to ask you one."

Blair shrugged as he took the next plate. "Sure, go ahead."

"Leaving aside what you do for a living, does a kiss _always_ mean sex to you? Don't you ever make out just for fun?"

Blair stopped wiping dishes, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. He thought it over, then answered, "No. Not since I was fourteen or so, anyway."

"Well, that's...a tragedy." Jim took his hands out of the soapy water and half-turned to look at Blair. He took the time to really look. _Beautiful_ wasn't a word Jim felt comfortable applying to a man, but it did apply in this case. With the long, raven curls framing a puzzled smile, Blair was beautiful, in a decidedly masculine way. Jim took the towel from Blair to dry his hands. "I know it's hard to keep work and life separate, but you're missing out, Blair. You're missing out on a lot."

Blair's smile transformed from puzzled to his version of seductive. "So...show me."

"Look, I'm not comfortable sleeping with someone when we're not...you know, involved. And there's more to having a relationship than sex."

"Way to make life complicated, Jim."

Jim reached for Blair. "Life _is_ complicated, Blair." He settled his arms around Blair's waist. It felt comfortable. He didn't want another rushed sexual encounter with this man, but he didn't know what he did want. And then he did. A memory came to mind, one that made him smile down at Blair. "You're on my turf now," he said.

"So...?"

"So come upstairs and I'll show you how to have fun with your pants on."


	5. Chapter 5

Jim was determined to complicate things, Blair reflected. Blair wanted sex. He wanted fun. Jim was going roughly in the direction he wanted, though, so Blair was happy to follow him up to the bedroom.

The bedroom was as compulsively neat and spotless as the rest of the apartment. Nothing, absolutely nothing was out of place and Blair, looking at the bed, made a bet with himself that it would be made with military corners.

The double bed was situated beneath a big semi-circular window which dominated the room. Jim turned on the overhead light which surprised Blair a little: at Bacchanalia Jim always preferred the light as low as possible. The bright overhead light reflected off the glass, turning the window into a mirror.

Blair was still looking at the reflected room when Jim came up behind him, hugging him.

"Relax," Jim said quietly, his mouth close to Blair's ear. "I want this to be for you."

That, too, sounded like this was moving in the right direction, so Blair nodded, leaning back into Jim's arms. Jim's hands moved over Blair's stomach, his hips and his thighs. Blair sighed, and Jim's hands slid upward, under Blair's borrowed t-shirt and Jim lifted the t-shirt slowly up over Blair's head. Blair lifted his arms to let Jim undress him.

The touch of Jim's hands on his chest and abs was warm and firm. He was leaning over Blair's shoulder, a little, his cheek pressed to the side of Blair's face. He turned his head and kissed the shell of Blair's ear. He breathed in deeply, a rush of air so close, then breathed out through his mouth. Blair had the discomforting feeling that he was being scented, memorised, but when Jim did it again Blair was reminded of yogic breathing. Unconsciously, he echoed it, taking a deep, relaxing breath the way his mother taught him so many years before. It felt natural to keep breathing in that way, and Blair felt his body relax. Even his bruised ribs hurt less.

"That's better," Jim said quietly. He was opening the drawstring of Blair's pants. Without the drawstring holding them up, the pants were too big for Blair and Jim pushed them down easily, exposing Blair's thighs. Jim moved around Blair, then, kneeling to remove the sweatpants. He looked up into Blair's eyes and Blair, meeting his gaze, almost lost the rhythm of his breath. Jim's eyes held such heat…but more than lust. Things Blair didn't know how to read.

Blair wasn't naïve. He knew that Jim was attracted to him and knew how Jim struggled with that attraction. But there was no sign of that struggle in Jim's eyes now. He looked at Blair as if Blair were a lifetime of birthdays all come at once. Somehow, he had left all his hang-ups downstairs. Blair remembered their nights together at Bacchanalia. Jim had this amazing ability to focus, whether on his work or on the sex, but Blair hadn't considered he might be able to leave even selected feelings aside.

Jim straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving Blair's. He began to strip off his t-shirt and Blair, picking up his cue, hooked his thumbs into his boxers to remove them. Jim stopped him.

"No. Leave them on, Blair."

"But, I - "

"I told you, not everything leads to sex. Slow down." Jim stripped quickly down to boxer shorts. Even in this, Blair noticed Jim was compulsively neat: he folded each piece of clothing over the nearby chair. Hell, he even folded his socks!

Jim moved to stand behind Blair again. With his hands on Blair's upper arms, he turned him to face the dark window. "Look," he instructed.

"At what?"

"Look at yourself." Jim lifted a handful of Blair's long hair, drawing it back over Blair's shoulder so his curls spilled down his back. "You are a vision, Blair. Take a moment to appreciate what you are."

It was a nice gesture, but Blair knew better. "What I am is - "

Jim interrupted him. "What you do is not who you are." His left hand rested on Blair's waist. With his right he pointed to Blair's reflection in the window. "Look. That's who you are." He touched the healing wound on Blair's shoulder. "Did you tell me the truth about how this happened?"

"Yes," Blair answered, his voice just a whisper. Blair was looking at their reflection. At himself in Jim's arms. _That's who you are._ Blair looked at his body in the mirror. He looked good. He knew he looked good, his livelihood depended on it. His skin was paler than he liked but it did make the thick mat of hair on his chest stand out. The muscles of his arms were not bulky but well toned, and there was the outline of a six-pack on his abs. Daily workouts were part of the job for him. But Blair felt like an ugly duckling next to Jim.

"You must have been in a lot of pain that night," Jim said, his fingers circling the wound gently. "I know I was your only client that night. You could have begged off, but you didn't. You have a lot of courage, Blair." His hand drifted lower, brushing Blair's nipple and coming to rest on his waist. He spread his fingers open above bruises that were clearly visible, even in their reflection.

"And this…" Jim went on, his mouth against Blair's neck as he spoke. "You knew you were risking this and worse when you came to us. To me."

Blair tore his eyes away from the view. He turned in Jim's arms, needing to see him for real. "Jim, what are you trying to say?"

He smiled, and it was an odd smile, as if Blair were a puppy doing something cute. "I said it," he answered. He covered Blair's frown with a kiss. Then he kissed the tip of Blair's nose. Then, as Blair lifted his face, Jim kissed him finally on his lips. Jim tried to keep it light but Blair was tired of the slowly-slowly approach. He reached up, pulling Jim closer to him, opening his lips beneath Jim's kiss and seeking Jim's tongue with his own.

For a moment, only a moment, Jim resisted. His hands convulsed on Blair's waist, fingers digging into bruised skin. Blair gasped in pain; Jim realised what he'd done and raised his hands to Blair's face, cupping his cheeks as they kissed.

Blair pressed against Jim's body, wanting Jim to feel his erection. He could feel Jim, hot and hard against him.

"Take me to bed, Jim," Blair begged. He had begged before, for johns who liked it, but this was the first time he could remember meaning it. "Jim, please, I need you."

Jim's look was one of wonder. "What have you done to me?" he asked. "This isn't me."

"Does it matter? Does it really matter?"

"No," Jim admitted. And kissed Blair again, guiding him slowly toward the bed as they kissed.

Even with that surrender, Jim refused to let Blair hurry him. He wanted to touch every inch of Blair's skin and Blair was glad to acquiesce. Jim's hands caressed Blair's chest and arms, moving lightly over his bruised skin, a fingernail scraping his nipple quite deliberately, making Blair react. Jim drew Blair's hand to his lips and sucked his fingers, one by one, into his mouth, sucking each digit as Blair might suck a cock. The firm pressure of Jim's mouth tightened Blair's loins, each swipe of Jim's tongue touching him in places his hands never could.

Blair writhed and moaned beneath Jim and still Jim tormented him, his caresses moving lower but not in the way Blair wanted so badly. He knelt between Blair's spread knees and lifted one of Blair's feet, rubbing the instep with his thumbs before kissing him just below the ankle.

"Do you like that?" Jim asked as Blair shivered.

Blair, beyond words, could only nod.

Jim kissed him again, a light touch on skin already burning with need. And the torture continued.

Blair lost track of time. They might have lain there for hours before Jim finally divested them of the last of their clothing. Blair, long past everything but need, guided Jim inside his body.

Blair did this so often, with so many men, but none of them were like this. None of that mattered.

_What you do is not who you are._

_No. This is who I am. This is where I belong._

With Jim fully inside him, Blair looked into Jim's eyes and found them dilated with desire, the blue barely visible any longer. Blair knew in that moment that he could never go back. Perhaps he would have only this night with Jim; he knew that the morning would bring reality back to both of them. But he couldn't conceive of devaluing this night by giving himself to anyone else again.

Jim's eyes filled his vision. His lips formed Jim's name. Jim reached for him, brushing his cheek. Blair felt Jim hesitate, saw him frown before rubbing his thumb gently along the skin beneath Blair's eye. He watched Jim raise his hand to his mouth, tasting. Until that moment, Blair hadn't known there were tears in his eyes.

He grasped Jim's hand with his own and it was in that moment, as their fingers entwined, that Blair felt his slowly-building climax peak and he uttered a cry of pleasure so profound it was almost pain.

Jim kissed him then, kissed him hard, still gripping Blair's hand as he filled him and at last, oh, at last they were one.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim looked down at the man sleeping in his bed and wondered what in hell he was going to do now.

Dark curly hair spread across the white pillow and partially covered Blair's face. With the sheets pushed down to his waist the healing wounds and bruises were clearly visible and Jim felt a surge of hate and anger for the people who did this to him. Jim remembered the taste of blood when he kissed the wound. He remembered the taste of Blair's tears. He forced himself to turn away. Blair was sleeping; he deserved to sleep.

But what the hell was Jim going to do?

He knew what he _should_ do. Play it by the book. Make the call. If he pushed hard enough, they could get Blair into the witness protection program. He could make a fresh start, away from all this. Safe.

And Jim would never see him again.

_You selfish son of a bitch. Make the goddamned call!_

He had to at least initiate witness protection for Blair. Jim knew that the crime network he was trying to break was too big to come down easily. Even once Bain and Elias were in jail, Blair might not be safe. Jim headed downstairs, though not to make the phone call: it was too late for that. He needed a drink. There was bottled water in the refrigerator; cold water tasted sweet on his tongue.

Feeling a little better, Jim thought about going back to bed, but Blair needed rest and Jim didn't want to disturb him. So he grabbed a sleeping bag from the spare room and setting himself on his couch. Jim noticed the message light blinking on his answering machine and hit the playback button.

_Jim, it's Simon. Pick up._ Silence, then: _Okay. I'm going to come by your place in the morning with someone to watch over your witness. Call me before eight if you've got a better plan._ Click, whirr and the machine reset itself.

Jim lay back on the couch and was asleep in minutes.

*

By eight, Jim was wide awake, showered, shaved and dressed. There was coffee brewing in the percolator, toast in the toaster and he was scrambling some eggs. Blair was still sleeping; Jim monitored him the same way he'd listened in on Bain and Blair's breathing was soft and regular.

At five past eight Simon knocked on his door with Henri Brown.

"Come in," Jim invited. "Coffee?" He was glad to see Brown. Simon could have assigned anyone to watch over Blair; that he'd chosen one of their team meant Simon was taking his safety seriously.

Both men accepted the offer of coffee. While Jim took care of that, Simon asked, "Where's…?" His voice trailed off, as if he didn't know what to call Blair.

"His name," Jim prompted, a little irritated, "is Blair. Blair Sandburg." Which Simon knew already. Jim gave Simon a mug of coffee. "He's still upstairs, sleeping."

Brown raised an eyebrow. "In _your_ bed?"

"He's been through a lot," Jim answered shortly. Let them make of that what they liked. He buttered toast and started on his eggs.

Simon said, "Jim, we've got to get his statement on record. And you've got a lot of work to do today."

"I know, Simon."

"Brown will stay with him…"

Jim waved it off. "Simon, there's more work to do than you think. We're going to have to change our plans for the raid today."

"It's too late for that, Jim."

"If we don't…" Jim added the scrambled egg to his plate and led the way into his living room, "we could lose the evidence. We won't get a second chance. Bacchanalia has to be a target as well."

Simon shook his head as he sat down. "I don't think we _can_, Jim. Our resources are stretched as it is."

"If we don't find the evidence, all of this is for nothing and the PD faces a lawsuit from Bain. Blair told me Bain and Elias are partners. That means some or even all of the paper trail could be at Bacchanalia." Jim heard the bedsprings creak above them. Blair was awake. Jim went on, "I think Blair's evidence will be enough for a search warrant, but if we don't search at the same time as the raid, our rats will go to ground. We might lose everything."

A few minutes later, Jim was in the bedroom, giving Blair a mug of coffee.

Blair smiled and kissed him. "Thanks."

Jim moved back a little. ""We're not alone," he said quietly.

"I noticed. What's going on?" Blair sipped his coffee.

"Detective Brown is here as your protection. He'll take you home so you can get some of your own clothes, then when you're ready he'll bring you in to the department so you can give us a statement. It's important we have everything that happened to you on record, even if you don't want to press charges."

Blair shook his head, tossing his tangled curls. "You're going a bit fast for me, man."

Jim sighed. He was right; Blair had only just woken up and yesterday was probably a lot for him to process. But there wasn't time for an extended conversation. "I have to work. You're in danger. Brown is going to protect you. Okay?"

Blair still looked worried. "You trust him?" he asked uncertainly.

Jim nodded. "Absolutely. Brown is a good man, a good cop."

"Alright." He look a longer drink of the coffee.

Jim looked Blair over. His hair covered the shoulder wound, but Jim could see the bruises around his ribs. They looked worse than he remembered, but maybe that was just the morning light. He lifted Blair's hair away from the shoulder to look at the wound. It was healing nicely with no sign of infection. He brushed Blair's cheek with his fingers.

It earned him a smile. "Jim, did I hear you right? You're planning to search Bacchanalia?"

"That's right."

"Jim, you only saw a small part of Bacchanalia. You won't be able to find anything hidden in there. Not without help."

_Uh-oh._ "Oh, no. No way, Blair. You're staying safe."

"Jim - "

"End of discussion," Jim interrupted firmly. "Leave the cop business to the cops, okay?"

Blair looked glum, but nodded. "Do you know if my mom is okay?"

"We've had someone guarding her since you told me she was in danger. No one has tried anything at the sanatorium."

Blair took a shaky breath. "That's good, man."

"I'm sorry to run out on you, but I have to go to work. Ask Brown if you need anything else, alright?"

"Alright."

"And help yourself to breakfast," Jim offered. "I'll see you later." But he couldn't leave without a last kiss.

*

Dressed in his own clothes again, Blair felt much more like himself. He dressed with care, for Jim. Tight black leather pants. Black shoes. An off-white silk shirt with deep blue embroidery at the collar. A blue vest. He combed out his long hair, added a little gel and left it loose. To complete the look he added a heavy gold chain around his neck and gold earrings. Lastly he selected a full length leather coat. He glanced at himself in the mirror and decided he looked _good_.

Blair packed what he could into an overnight bag and allowed the detective to drive him to the police HQ. Once there, he was glad he'd dressed to kill. People noticed him. Some of the glances held varying levels of curiosity and contempt: those were the ones who guessed his profession from a look. Other glances held admiration and heat. But no one failed to notice him. It helped to boost Blair's confidence. His livelihood depended on his being attractive; he enjoyed turning heads. He put some strut into his walk as he followed Brown.

He didn't enjoy being in a police interview room, knowing there was probably someone watching through the one-way glass, forced to bare his soul on tape. Blair treated it like part of his job: just accept the parts that aren't fun, go with it. Blair told Brown the whole story, from his discovery that Bain was using Bacchanalia to conduct his criminal business to crashing his car outside Jim's building. It took a long time to tell.

When he was done, Brown asked if he was hungry and Blair realised with a shock it was past lunchtime. He was suddenly starving. But once sandwiches and soda had been delivered to him, Blair was left along in the unfriendly little room. He sighed, lifting the bread to see what they'd given him. Tuna mayo with a limp lettuce leaf. It seemed like the perfect match for his life.

Life sucked.

The consequences of what he had done were beginning to hit Blair. He had lost his job. With all the mortal peril he managed to forget that. Bacchanalia was a good place to work. It was clean, safe, mostly legal and the pay was good. What was he going to do without that job? Blair had some savings, but Naomi's care costs would eat up his savings in no time. Shit…

The door opened and Jim walked in. He smiled at Blair. "How are you doing?"

Blair leapt up. "Man, I'm so glad to see you! What's going on? How long am I gonna be kept here?"

Jim looked taken aback. "Blair, you're not under arrest. You can leave any time you want to."

"And go where? I walk out of here, I'm dead, man. You know that." He stalked away from the table, moving into Jim's space. "No one even bothered to tell me where the men's room is!"

Jim started to smile, then seemed to think better of it. "Okay, let's take care of that now. C'mon." He clapped Blair on the shoulder, guiding him toward the door. They passed several doors, then a line of vending machines. The men's room was the next door. It was empty when they reached it.

Blair got rid of a morning's worth of used coffee. He zipped his pants and washed his hands, looking at Jim in the mirror. "Seriously, man, do I have to stay in that room all day?"

Jim frowned. "I could have someone drive you back to my place, or to a safe house, but you're better protected here. No one will come after you with all these cops around." He moved toward Blair, but Blair turned around before Jim could hug him from behind. "Blair, it's only for today, I hope."

Blair shook his head in frustration. "I'm bored to death, Jim! Can't I even get a book?"

Jim kissed him lightly. "Yeah, I think I can do that for you." He began to turn toward the door.

Blair grabbed his arm. "Jim. Last night…" But he stopped, unable to find the words to tell Jim how much it had changed him.

There was an answering heat in Jim's eyes. His smile was crooked. "Yeah," he said simply. Nothing more. He opened the door for Blair. "I've got a favour to ask you."

"Anything."

"I've got the architectural plans for Bacchanalia. I filled in as much detail as I remember but you've seen parts of the building I never got close to."

Blair nodded. "You want me to fill in the blanks, show you where the guns are."

"It's a legitimate business and we'll be going in with a warrant. I'm not expecting a firefight."

"What can I do?"

They reached the elevator and Jim pushed the call button. "I want you to fill in the blanks. Tell us where the guns are."

Blair laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim knocked on the glass of Simon's office door and entered when Simon called, leaving the door ajar behind him.

"About time, Ellison!"

"Give me a break, sir, I've been working as fast as I can."

"Are you ready?"

Jim nodded. "I'm done, and I've briefed my strike team. Simon, I think we should take Blair along."

"A civilian? Absolutely not."

The response wasn't unexpected. "Blair knows the scene," Jim explained. "I've been going over the floor plans with him and the building has been remodelled extensively since those plans were drawn up. I want to put him in a flak jacket, leave him in the van until we've got the place secure, then bring him inside to show us around. He'll be safe."

Simon moved around the desk, leaning against it. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jim. "Just what is it with you two?"

Jim hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"This kid is a renter, Ellison. A snitch. Why do you suddenly trust him so much?"

"He's got bruises all over his body from what they did to him, Simon, and he's _not_ a snitch. He came to us because it was the right thing to do, he didn't do it for money."

Simon closed his office door. "Did you fuck him?" he demanded bluntly.

Jim took a deep breath, but didn't meet Simon's eyes. "At Bacchanalia, neither of us had much choice, sir. I promised to keep him safe when he helped me monitor Bain. To do that, I had to play the role. They had cameras in every room."

"So that's a yes."

"We had sex, yes."

"And he slept in your bed last night."

Jim could have answered, _I slept on the couch._ It was the truth, and Simon saw the sleeping bag there. Even as the words rose to his lips, Jim knew that truth was a lie. He made love to Blair the night before. He wanted Blair to feel like his lover, not a renter he had paid for. If he denied what they shared, even by implication, Jim would be treating Blair like a whore. He couldn't do it.

So he looked Simon straight in the eye. "That's right, he did. Do you need to make something of it?" Though the words were confrontational, Jim's tone wasn't. He simply needed to know.

Simon moved away from the closed door. "I'm saying I don't think you're objective here. That's all."

Jim made an impatient gesture. "Objective about what? Putting him in danger?"

"Trusting his word."

"Simon, he's a good man trying to do the right thing." Jim took a seat. He hadn't been invited to sit but didn't care. "Listen, d'you remember I asked for protection for his mother last night? Blair rents so he can afford her hospital care, and he has since he was sixteen. We would have paid for his information, but he hasn't asked. Not once."

"You've paid him a lot to help you spy on Bain."

"No, I paid _Bacchanalia_. Sure, he gets a cut, but that's his job. I _trust_ him, Simon. I think he can help us here."

Simon muttered under his breath.

Jim said, "I heard that."

"You were meant to. Alright, Ellison, have it your way. The task force is yours. If you want to include him it's your call. Just as long as we're clear it's your ass on the line."

Jim nodded. "It's clear. Thank you."

*

It was a major operation and the amount of planning that went into the coming few hours reminded Jim of his army days. The next few hours would justify all of the hard work and cost.

In the rear of the police van, Jim looked across at Blair. Blair had slicked back his long curls into a tight braid which was hidden under the police flak jacket he wore. He was still wearing his own leather pants but at Jim's insistence exchanged his white silk shirt for a police-issue t-shirt: black, of course. He had a police cap, too, but he wasn't wearing it. The result was a striking contrast to Blair's usual persona. He almost looked like a cop.

Blair met his eyes, not speaking. He was turning the cap over in his hands, a nervous gesture. Jim gave him a reassuring smile. _Just a few hours, Blair, and it will all be over._

Next to Blair sat Detective Russell. Russell would be co-ordinating the op from the van, monitoring their communications. Jim was counting on him to look after Blair, though that he couldn't say aloud.

The van stopped and their driver called back to them, telling them they were at Bacchanalia. Jim had no need to remind his team of their orders. Everyone knew where to be and what to do. Cops surrounded the building, a small team covering every exit. As the van emptied, Jim shifted to sit beside Blair and Russell moved away, giving them privacy.

"You okay, Blair?" Jim checked.

Blair nodded.

"You'll wait here until…"

"I know, man. I wait. You send someone for me when you're ready. Until then, I hide here. I got it the first hundred times, Jim."

Jim nodded. "Okay. See you on the other side." Jim headed out of the van.

*

Left in the van with Russell, a man he didn't know at all, Blair twisted the police-issue cap in his hands and stared at the floor.

This was not what he wanted to happen.

He agreed to help the cops because everyone knew Bain was a murdering bastard and the city would be a better place if he was behind bars. Blair lost friends to the drugs Bain supplied. He was willing to do what he could if would get rid of Bain. But he didn't want Bacchanalia brought down with him.

Elias was a mean sonofabitch but he'd given Blair a job when he desperately needed one. Blair had been working on a delivery truck by day, only lifting boxes because he wasn't old enough to drive, and serving junk food by night. He didn't make even a quarter of the money he needed that way. Without Bacchanalia, he might have done something desperate. He didn't know what, but something. Thanks to Elias and Bacchanalia, Blair had a regular income, he could pay for Naomi's care, an apartment of his own and even had some savings.

Blair didn't want Bacchanalia destroyed. Though he could never go back to work there, others relied on Bacchanalia for work. Others like him. This wasn't right.

He heard radio chatter but nothing coherent, nothing he could make out. He waited, staring at the floor of the van. Russell didn't speak to him. Not once. After a while, Blair smoothed back a stray lock of his hair and put the cap on. Blair wondered if he looked like a cop. Nah. You could paint out a leopard's spots but it still looked like a leopard.

Eventually, another cop came for Blair. Blair was escorted past the perimeter. It felt like a crime scene in a movie; and Blair supposed that in a way, it was. Two cops guarded the main entrance. The main door led to the public reception, which was bland, nondescript…and empty. From there, a further door led to the _real_ reception area: the black-painted waiting room where the renters met their johns. Blair walked through the door and found the waiting room full of people: cops, johns and renters. He pulled his cap downward, hiding his face. Someone had opened the partition between the waiting room and the stage, so the room was the size of a ballroom. This was where the cops were making everyone wait while they searched the building.

Blair's escort led him quickly through the room and into the familiar corridor beyond. "Ellison's in the office," he said. "You know where that is?"

Blair nodded. "I do. Thanks." Elias' office was right around the corner. Blair wasn't a fool: he knew not everything at Bacchanalia was strictly legal, but Jim wasn't likely to find anything incriminating in such an obvious place. That, he guessed, was why Jim wanted him along.

There were four people in the office. One was a cop Blair didn't know. One was a security guard. Jim was there: he had his back to the door and was taking folders out of a file drawer. Somehow he knew the moment Blair reached the doorway. He began to turn around as Blair entered. But Jim's movement focussed Blair's attention on the man standing beside him. Elias. Blair froze in the doorway, staring at the man who wanted him dead.

Jim moved between them, walking toward Blair. "Blair. Good. " He reached out, touching Blair's arm and guiding him out into the corridor. He closed the office door behind them and glanced at the closed door. "There are some records here we can confiscate but if there's anything significant it's not likely to be in this room." He spoke quietly, but quickly. "Blair, we need your help now. _I_ need your help"

"Anything I can do, Jim," Blair answered unhappily. He didn't want to do this, but he was committed now. Jim's personal plea got his cooperation.

If Jim noticed Blair's hesitation, he gave no sign. "What I need is probable cause to arrest Elias. I could probably do that based on what he did to you, but he'd be out on bail too quickly. I believe there's more. Blair, you told me you started working here at sixteen. That's illegal. Are there other minors working here?"

_Shit, Jim, do I have to betray everyone?_

"Blair, come on."

Yes. Yes, he did.

Blair looked up at Jim. "Promise me the only person you're gonna arrest is Elias."

"No, I can't promise that until I know…"

"Promise me! Or I'm not telling you a damned thing, man. Not a thing."

Jim shook his head, but said, "Okay, I promise."

"The renters who are under age work in another part of the building. I'll show you."

Jim nodded. "Just a moment." He spoke into his radio. "Russell, this is Ellison. Do we have anyone free to back me up?" He waited, then said, "Yeah, good." He looked at Blair. "Tell me what you know."

"Jim, if I hadn't found a job here after mom was hurt, I might have ended up stealing or working for some drug dealer. I knew it was illegal, man, but it _was_ consensual."

"It was for you," Jim answered. "I believe you. That doesn't mean it's consensual for every kid who gets caught up in this life."

"Okay, I accept that," Blair agreed, "but, Jim, I've helped train some of these youngsters. I've never met one who didn't want to be here."

"Did you _want_ to be here, Blair? Or was it just the best you could do in a desperate situation?"

Blair was saved from having to answer by the arrival of two others; Jim's requested backup. He didn't wait for instructions, but set off down the corridor, knowing Jim would follow.

The door was marked _Fire Exit_, but it wasn't one. Blair reached behind the nearby fire extinguisher  for the card key, swiped it through the slot and opened the door. It revealed a dark staircase.

"Where are we going?" Jim asked him.

"The quickest way to the private rooms is through the dungeon." Blair cringed inside at the thought of what Jim would see, but it was too late to take it back. Overhead lights came on as he descended the stairs, activated by motion or heat. Blair had never been sure which. At the bottom another door led into the dungeon.

The room looked far worse than it really was. Most of the devices displayed there were rarely, if ever, used. There were other places that specialised in sado-masochism; Bacchanalia did fantasies, which meant most of this was scenery. But the cops didn't know that.

It wasn't Jim who reacted. Blair stole a glance at him as they walked into the dungeon and Jim's face was carefully impassive. His eyes took in everything: the chains and bondage frames, the whips and the hoods. He saw everything, but it was one of the other cops who said, "What the hell is this place?"

"The business of Bacchanalia is making fantasies real," Blair answered. "Including the dark ones." He pushed open a heavy door and they emerged into a corridor not unlike the one they left upstairs. It had the same hotel-style doors with lights above each one. Several of the lights were on. Here, Blair stopped.

He looked up at Jim. "I don't have a master key, man. You'll have to get them to open the doors from inside. But if you do, you'll have your evidence."

Blair turned away. Whatever happened now, it was on his head. Blair didn't start this to destroy so many lives. Where would the youngest renters end up without Bacchanalia?

Jim came after him. "It's alright, Blair. Everything's alright."

No, it wasn't. Jim couldn't understand.

Blair heard the shouts of "_Police! Open this door!_" He couldn't turn around. He stayed where he was, in the doorway, looking back into the dungeon.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim thumbed the button on his radio. "Rafe, come in."

Rafe's acknowledgement crackled over the radio.

"Place Mr Elias under arrest," Jim told him.

"My pleasure," Rafe returned.

Jim smiled grimly, looking around for Blair. He was nowhere to be seen. Jim remembered seeing Blair disappear through one of the doors. He started looking for him and found Blair in the third room he tried. Jim stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Blair was sitting on a rumpled bed, comforting a teenage boy. The boy was holding a pillow in his lap and a pair of handcuffs dangled from one of his wrists; aside from that, he was naked. He looked like a young version of Blair: pale skin, long, dark hair. For a moment, watching them together, Jim saw vividly into Blair's lost childhood.

"I don't know," Blair said softly, stroking the boy's hair, "but there are other places. I can give you some names."

The boy's head bowed. "Thanks."

Blair held the boy's wrist. "Let's find the key for these cuffs, shall we?" He began to get up and saw Jim watching them. He froze for a moment.

Jim made a _settle down_ gesture. "It's alright," he said softly.

Blair stood and touched the boy's shoulder, making him turn to face Jim. "Jim, this is Leo. Is he allowed to leave? Once he's dressed, I mean."

Jim shook his head. _Technically, he can't. Not until he's checked in upstairs._ They'd corralled everyone in the reception area so they could get a record of everyone who was here. Jim's people were taking names and addresses from everyone under the now-valid theory that they were all potential witnesses to a crime. Anyone who had an ID to match the information they gave was allowed to leave. Most of them weren't breaking the law by being here. But this boy was the victim of a crime. He should be interviewed, and they would call social services to take care of him.

"We need at minimum a name and an address," Jim hedged. The kid looked scared.

"_I_ know his name and where he lives," Blair insisted.

It was important to Blair. Jim sighed, defeated. "Then he can go."

Blair gave Jim a grateful look. He moved across to the mini-bar, retrieved the handcuff key and released the cuff from Leo's wrist. The boy hadn't moved. "If you need anything," Blair said, "leave a message for me with Tony at Incubus. Tell the others, too. I'll help if I can."

Leo gave Jim a scared look, pulled a sheet off the bed to wrap around himself, and fled from the room, tripping over the sheet in his haste.

Blair stood up, moving a few paces away from Jim. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders tight with tension. Then he took a deep breath and Jim watched Blair rebuild himself.

Blair pulled the police cap from his pocket and put it on. "You need Elias' private records. The illegal stuff."

"Yeah."

"I have no idea if he kept anything like that in writing, man. But if he did, I know where it'll be. Elias has a private suite here."

"You mean the penthouse?"

"No, that's a working room. First floor at the back. I'll show you."

Blair headed toward the door, and Jim. As Blair reached him, Jim tried to stop him. "Blair, are you okay?"

"Sure, man. Never better." He pushed past Jim into the corridor.

*

The moment they entered the apartment Jim knew instinctively that they were close. Blair was right. If they were going to find a smoking gun, it was likely to be here.

It was a studio-style apartment, everything in one room but divided up as if there were invisible walls. There was an office area with a laptop computer on the desk; a living area with a large TV screen, a stereo, all the usual luxuries; a large bed; and a kitchenette with no oven but a fancy coffee percolator.

There were already cops searching the room. They did everything cops usually do before Jim and Blair arrived. The locked drawers of the desk had been opened, pictures removed from the walls, the cushions taken from the couch. There was a safe on the wall, which had been concealed by a picture. Their safe expert, Caffey, was already working on it. The television was on, and displayed a monochrome image that looked like a CCTV feed. Detective Pennick was over there holding the TV remote.

"Looks like I'm redundant," Blair commented.

"Maybe…" Jim agreed. He glanced around the room again and the television caught his attention. "Wait a moment," he said to Blair, then raised his voice. "Hey, T, run that back!"

Tom Pennick turned to them as Jim approached, Blair following him. "What's up, Jim?"

"You were flicking through the security cameras."

Pennick shrugged. "Just checking the rooms are empty."

"Sure, but flip back a couple of screens. Blair…"

Pennick pointed the remote at the screen and it flashed to an empty room. Then to another.

"That's it," Jim stopped him. He gestured to Blair who came to his side. "That room - is it Bain's?"

Blair squinted at the lettering at the bottom of the screen. "A47. Yes, but how did you…?"

"The mirror on the wall is crooked and there's a gun on the mantle under it," Jim explained.

Pennick stared at him. "You noticed that from across the room? That's good, Ellison."

Jim ignored the comment, focusing on Blair. "Was this Bain's night?"

Blair frowned. "I think so. I didn't check because I knew you weren't coming."

"Good enough. Let's go. You too, T."

*

On the way down, Jim radioed Russell to ask if Bain was among the people they'd detained. He was not. It was possible Bain slipped through the net with a fake ID, but not likely: all of the cops knew his face. Jim warned Russell that Bain might still be in the building, somewhere.

"_I'll have people search, Jim, but if the man has any sense he's running. Captain Banks says he's got more than enough for a warrant._"

Jim grinned. "About time. Ellison out."

The door of Bain's room was locked, though the "occupied" light was dim. Jim stared at the door for a moment, considered going in search of the key-card, but there was an easier way. He told Blair and Pennick to stand back and opened it himself. It felt good to hit something right then. The second kick splintered the wood and on the third the door burst open.

The room was empty, but Jim knew immediately that it had been in use earlier in the evening. The smell of sex assaulted him as they entered. The room was dominated by the large bed. It was designed for bondage games: restraints were built in. An empty bottle of wine stood beside the bed and Jim saw four glasses. He knew the usual pattern of Bain's nights: if they were still on the wine then the raid had indeed interrupted Bain's fun.

Or perhaps it was the raid Simon was leading on Bain's facility was responsible for the interruption. It would explain why Bain wasn't among the men they detained. In which case he, as Russell said, would be running.

Jim focussed on the mirror. It was slightly askew on the wall: the thing that alerted him on the security feed. The large mirror took up most of the wall. Jim moved toward it and lifted it away from the wall. Mirrors and pictures in hotel rooms are usually screwed down tight, to discourage theft. Bacchanalia wasn't a hotel as such, but most rooms followed the same principle. This mirror tilted away from the wall easily.

"Give me a hand, T," Jim said, moving up to the mirror. With Pennick's help, he lifted the mirror down.

Jackpot! Jim thumbed his radio. "Russell, come in." When Russell acknowledged, he asked, "How fast can you get Caffey down here? I've got a safe to open."

There was a pause, then Russell's voice came through. "No can do, Jim. Caffey said the box he's working on is going to take a few hours at least."

Jim swore under his breath. They needed to know where Bain might have gone. He didn't _know_ that this safe contained a clue, but if it did, they were on a clock. He ran his fingers along the wooden shelf below the safe. "Okay, I guess it can't be helped. Call Simon and make sure he's got an APB out on Bain. I'll see what else I can find while we wait for Caffey."

"Done."

The radio went dead and Jim sighed. He wanted to end this tonight. He glanced at Blair, who was hanging back near the door. The sooner they were done here, the sooner Blair could leave. Jim looked at the safe. It was an old model: standard click-wheel combination lock. Caffey would have it open in minutes. Jim considered calling Russell and telling him to get Caffey's ass down here; he could go back to the other safe when this one was open.

Blair came up to Jim's side. "Jim, are you allowed to open that?"

Jim nodded. "Our warrant covers it, but Caffey - our safe cracker - is busy upstairs. I was just wondering whether I should call him down here."

"You can do it without him, Jim. Remember what we talked about last night?"

Jim looked at Pennick. "Uh, give us a couple of minutes alone, T."

Tom looked puzzled, but he shrugged. "Sure. I'll be right outside."

Jim waited until the door closed behind Pennick. He kept his voice low. "Listen, Blair, I know you think I have this gift and maybe I do, but you don't know what it's like. I've let it out too much on this case, Blair, I _can't_ do what you're suggesting."

"Why can't you - ?"

"It gets away from me. I'll start seeing things…hearing things that aren't there." Only Simon knew how bad things became the last time Jim let his senses get out of control. In his normal, day to day life, Jim was fine. But when he consciously used this ability, if he over-used it, it was as if it was a wild animal escaped from a cage; it took a lot to stuff it back in and lock the door. Jim wasn't sure he could go through that again and stay sane. For the sake of this case, he'd risked it…and so far he was okay. But as he looked at the safe, understanding what Blair was suggesting, Jim thought that would be pushing his luck too far.

Blair shook his head firmly. "No, man. It's not a hallucination. If you see and hear things that other people can't that doesn't mean they're not there." He chewed his lip, thinking it over. "It sounds like your control slips, like having the volume up too high." He nodded to himself. "Jim, come and sit down." He reached for Jim's hand, pulling him toward the big bed.

"We don't have time for this." Jim resisted.

"Please, Jim." Blair dragged him to the bed and Jim had to either go along or fight him. He found himself sitting on the bed. Blair knelt in front of him, but at a distance. "Okay, I'm going to show you something that will help you control this."

Jim looked into Blair's earnest eyes. He knew the younger man meant well, but he didn't know, he _couldn't_ know what this was like. "I don't know if…"

"Trust me," Blair insisted. For the first time, there was a note of command in his voice and, oddly, that was something Jim responded to.

He nodded. "Okay."

"Close your eyes. Try to relax." Blair spoke quietly, forcing Jim to listen closely. "I want you to visualise something you can control. Like a TV remote control. It has buttons to control the volume, the picture and so on. See it clearly in your mind."

"Hokey," Jim remarked.

"Jim."

He sighed. "Alright. I see it." Oddly, he could.

"Good. See five controls there, within reach of your hand. One control for each of your senses." He waited, giving Jim time. "Now, identify the control for your sense of touch. I want you to dial it down, right down, as far as it will go."

Jim frowned, but kept his eyes closed. "Just dial it down in my head?"

"That's right. It's a control. Just dial it down. Are you there?"

It still seemed silly, but Jim tried. "I'm there."

A moment later Jim felt Blair take his hand, sliding his palm over Jim's. "How does that feel?"

"Okay," Jim answered. "Normal."

"That's good. Now take that same control and dial it up. Dial it up _slowly_, and not too much. Just enough so it's comfortable."

Blair turned Jim's hand over so his palm was uppermost. He began to massage the hand gently with his thumbs.

Jim nudged the imaginary dial and felt Blair's touch, suddenly warmer, more intense…more sensual. He opened his eyes. "That's amazing."

"It worked?" Blair grinned up at him.

"I think so."

"See? You _can_ control your senses, Jim. You _are_ a sentinel; control is part of your gift. You just need to relax and concentrate." He stood up, dropping Jim's hand. "Shall we try that safe?"


	9. Chapter 9

Blair gripped the bars of the headboard. The metal warmed beneath his hands. There was nothing holding him but his own strength; he found he missed the sensation of restraints on his wrists. He loved the out-of-control feeling, the edge of fear he got from bondage. Even with a john, when he wasn't always sure the guy would stop before things turned bad, Blair enjoyed it.

Jim's mouth was hot and hungry on Blair's flesh. He knelt between Blair's legs, balanced by one hand just beside Blair's ribs. He was working his way down Blair's chest and stomach with his mouth. He kissed and nibbled a path along Blair's collarbone. When the small scrape of his teeth made Blair writhe, Jim bit down harder, marking him. Blair loved it.

Now he was slowly circling Blair's navel with his tongue and Blair gripped the headboard more tightly. He arched his back involuntarily, pushing his body toward Jim's mouth, straining for more.

Jim laughed softly and blew across his skin, making Blair shiver. He laid his head on Blair's belly, looking down his body to where Blair's cock lay, hard, ready, waiting. Jim ran a finger over the hard flesh before his eyes, making Blair's hips jerk.

Blair wondered if Jim would finish it. It seemed to be Jim's intent to suck him and his body tightened in anticipation...but why had Jim stopped? Blair's hands began to cramp, he was holding on so tightly. He had to ignore what Jim was doing and for a moment concentrated on loosening his fingers, one by one. He flexed his hand carefully before reaching down to Jim, touching the close-cropped hair.

"Jim?" he prompted.

Jim raised himself up on his hands. He looked...embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Blair. I..."

Blair thought he understood what was bothering Jim. He smiled, sitting up. "It's alright, Jim. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable..."

Jim kissed him on the lips, cutting off his words. "How can you think I don't want you? I want _all_ of you. I was just thinking...I don't really know _how_."

"How to do what?"

Jim's hand stroked Blair's cock. "What you do so well."

The touch made Blair react, taking in a sharp breath and reaching for Jim, pulling him into a kiss. Blair made the kiss last, until Jim relaxed against him, the length of his body pressed against Blair. "Jim, man, if you want it, it'll come naturally," he promised.

Jim's body was a delicious weight on his, Jim's cock pushed between his legs. Blair moved against him, but it was that, the feel of Jim so nearly inside him, that made Blair stop. "Jim. You need a rubber first." To the best of Blair's knowledge, he was free of STIs, but he would not let Jim inside without protection. Blair's was, after all, a high-risk job.

Jim groaned. "You talk too much," he objected, but he did roll over and open the drawer for a rubber. He found one, kissed Blair and drew back just a little so his face completely filled Blair's vision. "You just talked yourself out of a blowjob because, baby, these things taste terrible."

Blair giggled and took the condom from Jim's hand. It was Jim's own fault if he'd bought the type that taste bad, but now wasn't the time to lecture Jim on different flavours of spermicide. "That's okay, I can wait. I'll get you some that taste good." He tore open the condom wrapper. "Do you wanna fuck me?"

Jim stopped him. "Blair, I'm not paying you for this. What do _you_ want?"

Blair hesitated before he answered but he was keen to get down to business and failed to think about what he was saying. He would never have made such a stupid mistake with a john, but Blair was relaxed with Jim. He was enjoying himself. He had stopped thinking like a renter.

He said, "What I want, I don't think you'd like. Let's just fuck."

Blair knew at once that he'd screwed up. Jim pulled back. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Blair answered hastily. Too late.

"No, Blair." Jim's body was no longer touching Blair's. He sat up in the bed, crossing his arms over his knees.

The mood was well and truly broken. Blair moved to the other end of the bed. He didn't take his eyes off Jim.

Jim said quietly, "I know I'll never be as good in bed as you are. I can live with that, but this is a two-way thing, Blair. If you're not...satisfied, you should tell me."

Damn. Shit. Fuck. _Blair, you jerk._ He knew better than to tell a john _anything_ that might imply he's less than spectacular in bed. They all want to think they're great lovers, even though they're paying to fuck you and don't really give a damn if you have a good time. Jim was different. He was a sweet lover, who _did_ care that Blair was having a good time. But he was still a man, and in this, Blair knew, all men are alike. He should have kept his mouth shut.

He sighed. Hindsight was useless. "Okay, Jim, let's talk. Earlier we were talking about putting me in the witness protection program. Do you still think I should do that?"

"Don't change the subject," Jim said irritably.

"I'm not. Please answer my question."

Jim nodded. "Your testimony is going to be crucial in putting Bain and Elias away. The people they work for will do everything they can to stop you from testifying. Witness protection is the best way to keep you safe."

"So that's a yes."

"Yeah."

"Then what's going on here? You talk like you want something from us, a relationship...I don't know what. But if I'm going to disappear, then all we've got is tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But days, not weeks or months. So how can this be anything _but_ casual sex?"

Jim uncrossed his arms and moved closer to Blair, though not close enough to touch. It was enough, though, for Blair to see his face more clearly, and what Blair read in Jim's expression was pain and regret.

"I know," Jim sighed. "I'm being selfish, hoping you'll stay."

_Stay? But..._ Jim was looking for a relationship? No, that didn't make sense. A cop dating a renter? Yeah, that was going to happen.

"Jim..." Blair started, then let his voice trail off, not sure what he wanted to say. "Is that...I mean, do you really want...?"

Jim's look was disbelieving. "Yes, I want you." He stared at Blair for a moment, then his expression changed, as if he'd only just realised something. "But you don't, do you?"

He sounded almost lost. Blair answered, "Jim, you are the most amazing man I've ever met. Of course I want you. You have no idea how much."

"Then what's wrong?"

Blair looked at him helplessly. Eight years of training warred with his desire to be honest with Jim. On one hand, Jim wasn't a john any more. Blair didn't owe him flattery. On the other hand...never kick a man in the ego. Not unless you want him to hate you.

He couldn't look at Jim when he spoke. "Jim, I've never been in a relationship. Not a real one. I don't really know how it works, but I do know there's supposed to be more to it than sex. The thing is, man, I love sex. I don't see me staying with someone who...oh, man." He backed up, tried to soften it. "Jim, last night was a-fucking-mazing but you're so damned vanilla! I _like_ vanilla, but I also like...different things. I don't think you do."

Jim nodded slowly, which at least confirmed he was listening. "What is it that you like so much and you think I won't?"

Blair shrugged, but it was a bit late to get coy. "That rubber suit you hated is my favourite.  It comes with cuffs and a mask, a collar..."

"So you're talking about bondage?"

Blair hesitated. "Uh...partly. I do like being tied up...or down. But it's not about bondage, not really. It's about control." He frowned, thinking it over as he tried to explain. "It's like...the work I do, I can't afford to lose control. I've got to be whatever a john is paying for, you know, whatever that is."

Jim nodded again. "So the bondage thing: if you give up that kind of control to someone else, it's easier for you to...what? Relax and enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah."

"I get it, kiddo, but you're right. I'm not really into dominance games. You really need that?"

"Not all the time, man, but sometimes...yeah, I think I do."


	10. Chapter 10

#### A Year Later

As Blair's testimony came to an end, Jim slipped quietly out of the courtroom. Though security was extremely tight around this case, Jim's detective shield gained him access to the protected area and he was waiting, nervously, when Blair came out, accompanied by an armed guard.

Blair looked completely different. It was partly the clothing: his former rent-boy-chic had been replaced by a smart suit and tie. It was the hair, though, that really made the difference. A year ago Blair's face was almost lost amid the tumbling curls that fell far below his shoulders. They were gone, his hair cropped so short you could barely see a hint of the natural curl. It completely transformed him: his features seemed softer, less angular, the full lips more obvious, more kissable. Blair's eyes, clear and still blue, met Jim's and whatever casual greeting Jim planned to offer died on his lips. He wanted to run to Blair, kiss him, hug him tight… It was just so damn _good_ to see him again.

A smile lit up Blair's face and Jim actually moved forward, with every intention of taking him into his arms. But a firm hand on his chest stopped him and Blair's bodyguard stepped in between them.

"Stop right there, sir."

Blair spoke first. "It's okay, man. Jim's a cop. And a good friend."

Jim managed a casual smile. "You did good, Chief," he said, ignoring the bodyguard and looking at Blair.

Blair's smile widened. "I saw you in the gallery."

The situation was a little ridiculous, but with this agent in his way Jim couldn't say any of the things he wanted to. That was the point of witness protection, of course: a protected witness was expected to break off all contact with former acquaintances. Jim reached for something to say and came up with "Uh…how have you been?"

Blair looked at his guard and shrugged. "I'm doing okay. New home, new job…you know. I wish I could tell you, but…"

"Yeah."

Blair threw up his hands suddenly. "Oh, hell, this is crazy! Can't you come to my hotel room later?"

The bodyguard moved away from Jim to address Blair. "That's not a good idea, Mr Sandburg."

"Jim's a friend. He's the one who got me into witness protection in the first place."

"Even so…"

"Don't be such a tight-ass, man! I know I'm supposed to avoid everyone but Jim's here now. After tomorrow, I won't get another chance to talk to him, will I? C'mon, man. I'll be as safe with Jim as I am with you."

Jim pulled out his shield again. "I know the rules. If you say no, it's no, but Blair's right. I won't tell anyone where he's staying and he'll be safe with me." He showed the bodyguard his shield, letting him note down the badge number. "I'm Ellison, Major Crimes. You can check me out."

"Alright." The guard took out a business card and wrote on it. "Seven PM. Don't come armed."

Jim took the card.

Blair's eyes were bright with a promise. "Later."

Jim nodded. "Later."

*

As a police officer Jim was supposed to be armed at all times. He understood the restriction, though, so he locked his gun up in the truck when he reached the hotel. Outside Blair's room he had to get past the guard again (a different man, this time), but Blair had lost patience with "the rules". He opened the door while Jim was still talking, grabbed Jim's arm and pulled him inside. Then he pointedly closed the door in the guard's face.

"That wasn't nec- " Jim started to object. But suddenly his arms were full of Blair, pulling his head down, kissing him. Blair pushed Jim back against the door, the kiss forceful, devouring. Before he fully realised what he was doing Jim returned the kiss in kind, pulling Blair's shirt out of his pants, his hands seeking bare skin.

Blair pulled away from the kiss long enough to say, "That's more like it!" and then his mouth was on Jim's again, as if Blair wanted to crawl inside his skin, Blair's hands tearing at Jim's clothing.

Jim got his hands under Blair's thighs and lifted him up. Blair laughed delightedly, wrapping his legs around Jim's waist as Jim walked them both toward the bed. Blair was heavier than he expected. When Jim's legs hit the foot of the bed he fell, quite deliberately, spilling Blair onto the bed and trapping him underneath his body. Jim couldn't wait any longer. He fumbled at his pants, getting them open and god, he'd waited so long for this, thought about Blair every night for a year. He pulled Blair's pants down and found Blair as ready and eager as he.

It stopped him. An instant before Jim was desperate to be inside Blair. Now this sight, Blair's cock lying hard and swollen on his belly, and Jim wanted something new. He didn't hesitate to take what he wanted. Jim pushed up the shirt Blair wore and held him down, bending to take Blair's eager cock into his mouth. He wondered briefly why he'd ever been reluctant to try this. The taste of warm flesh, the texture of the skin against his tongue, the smell of Blair's natural musk filling his nostrils. Blair's hand clutched the back of his head, guiding him and Jim was damn-near flying, high on it, on the joyous sound of Blair's voice and the hot, hot gush of his climax in Jim's throat.

Jim swallowed by reflex, heard Blair cry out again and raised his head, not certain if that sound was pleasure or pain. He saw Blair, saw the pleasure in his face. He kissed the dark mat of hair above Blair's softening cock and began to raise himself up.

"Wow," Blair whispered. He sat up and the shirt spilled down, covering him. He smiled at Jim, pushed his pants down to his knees and rolled over onto his stomach. The offer in the wordless gesture was clear.

Jim caught his breath. His earlier haste was gone. He took the condom from his pocket and caressed the firm muscles of Blair's ass, parting his buttocks gently. He reached under to cup Blair's balls, squeezing so-gently, just enough to feel the hard testes within. Then he positioned himself between Blair's legs and began to push his way inside, slowly, carefully.

Blair groaned, pushing back against Jim's body. Jim understood, then, what Blair needed. He grasped Blair's hips roughly, holding him in position. Retaining control.

Blair whimpered, "Oh, god…"

And Jim thrust into him, biting his lip to keep back the cry filling his throat. He felt his climax building, tight pressure in his body. He gripped Blair with one hand, reaching with the other to touch Blair's face. Blair turned into the caress, kissing the tips of Jim's fingers.

That was the moment Jim lost control. Not of his actions; of his senses. Blair's lips closed around his fingertip and he sucked. Jim felt it like hot, molten metal, as if his finger swelled with the suction. The taste of Blair's semen in his mouth was salt and bitter and sweet all at once and the smells of sweat and latex and oh, god the tight heat around his cock… It was overwhelming, a pleasure so intense it edged into pain.

The moment lasted for hours…and yet was less than a second. Then Jim was falling, falling into orgasm and into this impossible love.

*

"Was that hello or goodbye?" Blair asked. He snuggled into Jim's side. They were both naked, now, clothing in hasty piles beside the bed.

"Both, I guess," Jim answered. He leaned down, kissing Blair's forehead. "I missed you."

"Me too. Celibacy lost its novelty after a few weeks, I can tell you!"

Jim snorted. "Like you couldn't pick up someone in any bar you like."

"I couldn't!" Blair protested. "I wasn't allowed!" Blair turned so he lay half on top of Jim. "I wish this was over, but my case officer says I'll have to hide for three years at least. Maybe forever." He looked up at Jim, hoping for a denial.

Jim hugged him close. "It won't be forever, Blair. Your testimony was helpful against Bain, but against Elias it's crucial: after what you said today he's going down. They'll both appeal: that's the part that could drag out for a couple of years. But by then the FBI will be making progress against the rest of their organisation; it might even be over. As soon as it's certain no one is coming after you, you'll be able to come home. That is, if you want to."

"If I want to?"

"Some protected witnesses prefer to keep their new identity after they leave the program. You don't have many ties in Cascade, no family except your mom; after building a new life you might find it easier to stay. It'll be up to you." Jim hesitated, then asked the question Blair knew he shouldn't. "Blair, do you know where you'll be living?"

Blair nodded. "I'm already there. I've got a place at UCLA, starting next semester. They even helped me get a job to support myself through it: I'm counselling kids, helping them out of prostitution. Ironic, huh?"

Jim nodded. It sounded unusually close to Blair's former job, but he assumed the witness protection people knew what they were doing. "You're back at school, then? That's good."

"Yeah. It feels like I'm back where I belong. Mom's safe, too. She's - "

Jim covered Blair's lips with a finger. "No, don't tell me too much."

"You're not about to betray me, man."

"No, I'm not, but if they're really determined to get to you this room could be wired. Your mom is your weak point, Blair. Don't even trust your friends with that."

Jim was right. If anything happened to Naomi…

"Calm down," Jim added reassuringly. "I don't think you're in that much danger, but the point of witness protection is to be careful."

"Then…" Blair asked, frowning, "why did you ask me where I'm living?"

Jim kissed him. "I shouldn't have. You ruin my judgement, Blair."

Blair returned the kiss, long and sweet. Oh, god, he was going to miss Jim. Three years… "I love you," he said impulsively.

Jim's eyes went wide. "What did you say?"

"I love you." Blair sighed. "It's okay, you don't have to say it back. I'm about to disappear and we might never see each other again."

"Yeah, I know."

"Will you stay the night?" Blair begged.

Jim grinned. "Your bodyguard will throw a fit if I do."

"Fuck him!"

"I'd rather fuck you."

It was Blair's turn to grin. "Get on with it, then!"

Jim stayed late…very late…but he didn't stay the night.

*

That Bain would be found guilty was never truly in doubt. By the time the verdict came back, Blair had already left Cascade and Jim's life had returned to his normal, lonely routine.

In the week following the trial, Jim immersed himself in work, spending long hours at the PD to avoid thinking about Blair. From the little Blair told him, Jim knew Blair had a good life now. He would be happy and Jim…well, Jim coped with living alone just fine before Blair came into his life. He would cope again.

Sorting through his mail as he rode the elevator up to the loft, Jim found an envelope bearing a Los Angeles postmark. He found his heart beating faster. The address was typed, and there was no return address. The envelope contained no letter, nor anything that could indicate the identity of the sender. Except that it was obvious from the content who sent it.

As soon as he was inside, Jim settled down to read. The envelope contained three pages photocopied from a 1979 academic journal: an article about tribal sentinels. It had to be from Blair, but Jim was a little puzzled by the article. It told him nothing he didn't already know, and with no note attached or anything he couldn't tell why Blair sent it.

Jim shrugged inwardly and set the pages aside. He made a sandwich, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat down to re-read the article. Guardian of the tribe…believed to possess special sensory powers…yadda, yadda, yadda. Blair _told_ him all of this.

_They were the tribe's watchmen: they tracked game, watched for changes in the weather. They were the key to the tribe's survival. A sentinel was chosen because of a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness far beyond normal humans. Jim, you might have that same advantage!_

Jim looked at the envelope again. Naturally there was no return address: Blair was forbidden to contact anyone from his past life. He shouldn't have sent this to Jim…but Jim was grateful for the contact. It was good to know Blair was thinking about him.

What was Blair trying to tell him? Jim was a straightforward guy. He wasn't good at figuring out hidden meanings.

_If you see and hear things that other people can't that doesn't mean they're not there._

Hidden meanings? Jim looked at the pages again, and saw nothing but the print. Maybe it wasn't something he could see.

_You _can_ control your senses, Jim. You are a sentinel; control is part of your gift. You just need to relax and concentrate._

Feeling a little foolish, Jim closed his eyes and tried to relax the way Blair showed him that night at Bacchanalia. Visualise a control…

Suddenly, it was easy, as if his mind just stumbled onto the trick the way a kid learns to ride a bike. And, just like that kid, he knew he could do it now: this trick couldn't be forgotten.

Under his fingertips, Jim found what he was looking for. Blair's letter was an impression in the paper, invisible to the eye and undetectable to normal touch. He must have written it on another sheet, with the photocopied page two or three sheets down. Blair was a smart, smart man. No one but Jim could possibly have found this. Oh, advanced forensic equipment could detect the faint impressions but you'd have to know to look for them, and who else would think of it? Jim smiled to himself. Blair was one clever man. And gorgeous. And sexy…

The hard knot of tension and loneliness inside Jim eased. He knew what he had to do.

*

"What's this?" Simon asked, looking at the clean, white envelope Jim held out to him.

Jim laid the envelope on the desk in front of Simon. "It's my resignation, Simon."

"Your what? Jim, what's going on?"

"Just what it looks like."

Simon wasn't buying it. Jim expected that. He glanced out of the office window. "Simon, I know it's unexpected and I'm sorry for that. But I've made my decision."

Simon pointed to a chair, moving around the desk and taking a seat near Jim. "Is there some problem, Jim? I thought you'd have come to me. Listen, if you need some time off…"

"It's not time off, Simon. I'm leaving Cascade."

"But _why_? You're not making sense, Jim!"

Jim stared out of the window, watching the play of light in the rain outside. "I know. My reasons are personal."

"I'm your friend."

That was all Simon said. Just that simple declaration of friendship.

The problem was Jim didn't want to lie to Simon. They _were_ friends. He couldn't tell the truth. Ethical issues aside, if _anyone_ thought for a second that his leaving had anything to do with Blair, it could put Blair in danger again. That was the last thing Jim wanted.

So he offered to Simon a partial truth. Jim stood and walked over to the window. "You remember the problems I had with my senses a couple of years ago?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, since the Bain case, it's been happening again. I've been trying to deal with it on my own, but it's bad, Simon. A couple of days leave isn't going to fix it."

"Maybe we can find you a doctor…"

"I've found someone who can help me. Someone who knows what this thing is. But he's in LA."

Simon was silent. Jim didn’t turn around. Eventually, Simon said, "So, just like that, you up-stakes and leave?"

Jim nodded, turning, then, to face his friend. "I can't go on like this, Simon. This man is legit; I've checked him out. I've applied for a job with LAPD, but even if I don't get it, I'm leaving. I've thought this through, Simon. It's what I need to do." And that was as much of the truth as Jim dared to tell.

Simon shook his head. "You're sure about this?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. When do you leave?"

"Nothing's set in stone yet. Obviously I'll work out my notice, but I do want to move as soon as possible. Five, six weeks, maybe."

Simon nodded, all business again. He picked up the envelope from his desk. "Alright, Jim, if you've made up your mind, I'll get the paperwork started for you. We'll miss you around here."

Jim smiled. "Me too. Thanks, Simon."

He headed out of Simon's office. It was going to be a long six weeks.


End file.
